If you could see what I see.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lookin’ Out My Back Door.”

Lookin’ Out My Back Door

Look out your back window or door — describe what you see, as if you were trying to convey the scene to someone from another country or planet.

To the right of the doorway I can almost touch the large brown, craggy bark of our remaining pine tree. Slowly over time, its branches are dropping during the gusty windstorms that occur every other month or so. Just in front of the base is a medium-sized oval raised garden bed that contains a trellis. From what you can see of the trellis it is brown, but mostly covered with Silver Lace Vine that sends its many arms out into space before their weight forces their return to mingle and twine together. Soon tiny white flowers will appear in mass across the exposed branches. Tiny chickadees flit in and out, hiding from whatever predators are believed to be near.

At the base of the trellis is a clay stature of St. Francis, purchased in Mexico. Seeing it always makes me smile. The dirt is covered with a silver and green carpet of ground cover that alerts you of its water needs by shrinking in and down in order to conserve what moisture it might find below.

A orange Adirondack chair beckons. Square clay stepping stones line the center of the yard from one arbor to another. One holds a climbing red rose tree that blooms all summer. The other is draped with purple and white clematis that blooms in May. A blue, pink and lavender hydrangea anchors the corner and is bordered by a blue picket fence.

On the north side of the fence lays a patio of pavers. A large wood two layer deck juts out to allow for dining comfort. Numerous pots of geraniums, trailing petunias, gerber daisies line the deck’s edge; offering line of defense between pavers and bones.

The upper deck contains a small bistro set for the casual dining of two. A railing pot overflows with verbena. Oh, the birdbath needs a cleaning.

Hummingbirds swoosh by to the feeder hanging from the eave as swallows, chickadees, jays and goldfinches fight to feed from the Squirrel Buster that hangs from our neighbors’ tree that hangs over our mutual backyard fence. Other then the songs they sing and the occasional child’s scream from somewhere down the street – all is quiet. I ‘heart’ my yard.

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