The Weight of a Garden

 

I’ve been out in my garden all morning, the mulch arrived and I have been shoveling like crazy. I’m hot and sweaty and sit down on a bench to finish my bottle of water. It’s so quiet here so peaceful, just the sounds of those noisy birds in the trees, I must find out what they are. The perennials are in and the roses are in. It will take a while for the clematis to cover the garden arch. Richie got the fountain working early this morning. I think he enjoys playing outside.

I hear the sound of Richie’s weight bar and look through the French doors he’s left open. He’s on his back on the bench and his hair is damp hanging like a curtain behind his head. I have an intense desire to go and straddle his hips as he lays there trying to get his breath. I’m dirty but no matter. I remove my gardening gloves and kick off my old canvas shoes, he hasn’t seen me yet so I’ll slip out of my shorts here on the terrace and go quietly through the doors. Ah he’s caught me and a wide smile breaks across his face lighting up his blue green eyes. I tell him not to get up.