I often go outside with my dog Bixby, when he makes his last pre-bedtime bladder letting. He’s still not used to having yard and I suppose he feels more secure when I’m out there with him, so as he’s sniffing around looking for just the right place to mark his arc, I just kind of stand there . I live in a community with few streetlights. It’s a lovely gated place, a little on a rural side, but that’s part of its appeal. Wildlife abounds, deer and their axis cousins walk freely everywhere….other critters too, …and perhaps that explains why almost every yard is a xeriscape. Well, that and a definitive lack of rainfall.
Sorry, stream of consciousness running amuck, here.
So, when I’m outside with Bixby, its like this wonderful zen moment. I can’t see it, but I can hear the waterfall on the other side of the pool. There’s something about the sound of its steady flow that lulls me into a rare sense of….well, for lack of a better word, “all-rightness”. Trust me, peaceful moods around my here, especially lately are more rare than total solar eclipses.
Bixby gets braves and takes his urges farther back in the yard. I raise my ankle length caftan enough to dip my foot in the pool. Niiiiiiiice. The water is so warm. My senses are heightened because I can see so little, but I feel, do much.. The night air in late August, despite the heat, has a feeling of underlying seasonal change in it. Football season starts soon. It’ll be sweater weather too and Halloween will kick off the three-week month holiday season. All of this comes with tepid water and a breeze that blows warm with a hint of things to come.
I look around at what little I can see. This house It’s stunning, it’s cursed, I’m blessed, it’s haunted by the idiocy by its previous owner. I’m proud it, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made, the worse decision, which morphs into buyers remorse. I love it, I hate it and the renovation is taking forever.
Then, Bixby comes running back toward the patio, obviously lighter, and I can make out in the dimness that he has a smile on his face. This pleases me. I step out of my pool and when I do, the fringe of my caftan gets wet and hits the back of my calf with each step. I’m not annoyed by it, instead…, I’m heartened by it. I take 13, steps to reach my reach my patio then to the door of my house .
A mere 13 steps to realize that despite my fears and concerns, each damp step reminds that at the very least, I’ve taken a chance. Alone.
So, I think in the end, I’ll be okay and all it took to convince me was a pool, a mortgage, the obliteration of my savings, a dampened caftan and a dog’s nightly adherence to nature’s calling.
