Beyond my screen a green haven rises in all moods of weather, throughout the seasons. It’s a wonderful arrangement. I feel grateful my window does not face a concrete wall, or a busy street. My eyes get exercised, switching from screen to the far end of ascending grounds … the Buddha Island with its peonies and phlox plants, the white rose gate, and the studio beyond. Today I won’t dwell on urgent tasks, like heaving heavy watering cans, trimming overgrowth, or dwell on the help needed.
A still morning, butterflies frolic. Golden rays trail through the boundary hedge of my neighbour’s plot. Gradually, from East to West the sun fingers on and brightens my sanctuary. By noon the old apple trees will cast swaying patterns of dappled shade.
My dainty cat guest, Shey, delicately licks her snow white paws, making sure I notice her sitting on the patio wall. A patient creature, she knows I’ll stare at some weird thing in front of me for a while, certainly until I finished my cup of black coffee.
Once I step out to the patio, I gently rub Shey’s chin and feed her a few crisps, her daily treat, all under the watchful gaze of a friendly monster, her watchful cat companion. He is grey, fluffy, and huge, like a bobcat, tolerated but held at a distant by Shey, and me.
Next I replenish a wide bowl with fresh water, and toss a small handful of rolled oats in the earth of an old flower pot, for Robins, the little messengers of joy. And I admire the proud 50 cm Zinnia flower that survived aphids, from a batch of seedlings sent by a friend.
Later, a young fox sneaks out of nowhere, sitting straight as a stick, ears perked for the slightest sound or movement. He waits for my nod. Yes I see you, but I’m not sure you get food today. Aware you have Mange, I perked you up, but recently you brought a companion, and I don’t want my garden to become a fox highway. A raw egg once a week is enough. You got the hint and visit less frequently. In any case, you look better, and scratch your legs less.
A swift peek through my inbox – huh, a reader likes not just one but several of the monthly posts on my website. My eyes flick back to the garden – fragile flowers of wild geranium patches wave, and deeply pink wild sweet peas snail up the fur hedge next to the patio.
Finally breakfast – likely Kefir with soaked chia seeds, nuts and fruit.
Facing the wide world, I open a news site and scroll down surreal headlines. A world in turmoil, which I feel duty bound to witness. Weather allowing I’ll escape into the garden, just being there.
Do you create, or have a space that feels like a sanctuary?
I’m old and grumpy, a familiar sight. Small chance she wonders where I hang out when not visiting. Today she spotted me – a fluffy ginger ball dozing on a brick wall sheltered by ivy – not my regular spot. I prefer having my daily nap on a bench at the top. From that royal view downhill I keep half an eye on creature traffic, neighbour cats that shamelessly kill fledglings or lame birds, the stray dog or sly fox that slips through the hedge, reckless rodents … but it’s been drizzling all night and my favourite bench is soaking wet this morning.
bowl near the house with fresh water, just for me to slurp. In such moments we exchange glances, and she nods. What she doesn’t like is when I get too close to her little stone Buddha. Then she shakes her head or steps from the backdoor to clap her hands. I’ve seen her turn the water hose on cats with bad manners. She should know better, I’m not one of them, I have principles.
I bet she misses her companion, glossy and black as a moonless sky. She was gentle and tolerant of me, which is why I used to protect her from a nasty tom. Some years ago the woman dug a deep hole for her friend, near the compost heap. Not the most romantic spot to have one’s bones rest, but due ceremony was observed, which must count for love.
I doubt she cares where I camp at night. Doesn’t know I endure the stoned torpor of Mr X, lost in a dark place. It’s not a home, the vibes upset me. But each morning I vocally rouse X from his hangovers to alert him to my dry meal. This must be my purpose – my insistence on my existence is how he tracks time, like noticing a new day. Alas, the filthy water bowl is only rarely topped, which is why I’m thankful that the woman got the message … I’m always thirsty.
Last week, drama revisited. One of the fledglings fell from its nest. The parents called the alarm, showing me where to find the escapee, huddled in a corner, its beak demanding food. It was not quite ready to fly. I couldn’t find the nest, so I put the little one in an old cat :) basket, which I fixed on a safe branch cats couldn’t reach. I made the basket homely, with leaves, arty pieces of dry roots – a cushion even. All was well. The parents came and fed their lost baby, which made me happy. 
The luxury nest is now empty, and apart from a soft breeze ruffling flowers and leaves, the garden is strangely quiet today.
Course of Mirrors 