Outside
They liked to sit in the garden on Sundays.
They liked to sit in the garden on Sundays. The four of them. Sipping coffee and Coke and resting their heels on an old glass coffee table.
Gardening wasn’t their strong suit, at least not yet. But a couple of times a year, they’d rake up the fall leaves or the spring blossoms (along with a few worms) and talk about their plans for summer.
There’d be a nursery visit, where they’d select only the loveliest succulents. They’d fire up the barbecue every weekend, even it if it rained. They’d pull out the bicycles and tune them up. Invite the neighbors over. Have company.
She wanted it to be like the days she once knew. The days that stretched out endlessly till the sun drifted behind the mountains. Days where she lost track of time, lost track of everything but the pavement under her bare, dusty feet.
She was finding those days again now. Tucked between the softball games and playdates stood these sacred weekend chapters lodging themselves in her memory, nestled beside the Kodachrome of her own childhood.
She would hold on to them. Store them away and, every now and again, take them out to have a look. And marvel at how blessed she truly was.