My Droning Valentine
Roses. In time for Valentine’s Day, they start blooming. It’s such grace to a parched soul recently returned from the desert. Peach. Red. White. Neon pink. Couched in green of every hue. Among the baroque emerald foliage, the crimson leaves of the berry bramble encircle precocious white blossoms.
The sun gives warmth, touching my cheek and temples through the window. Cats recline behind me in the rectangular patch of light cast upon the floor and foot of the bed. Bird song mingles with the distant growl of a leaf blower, drifting in with the fresh air through the cracked window. Just a small opening. The air is still cold.
I watch birds chase each other across the blue sky. A breeze pushes a wind chime to sway and call softly. The leaf blower nearly drowns it out completely. It’s the toll one must pay to live in the beauty and peace of the suburbs. There is almost always a leaf blower, a lawn mower, or a chainsaw at work somewhere. I endeavour to regard their drone as an essential element of the sweetest music.
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