image by glenn buttkus
“My new house has a deck that wraps around my writing
room, outside my many windows I’ve hung bird-feeders
that stimulate my imagination.”--Julia Cameron.
I sport a baseball-sized scar
above my right knee, where
years ago I had fallen through
some bad boards on my old deck.
We, like many people, enter our home
through the back door, walking over from
the garage and crossing a fabulous new(ish)
deck to do so.
A couple of friends of mine, who
do some construction work in their spare time,
built a new deck for us, triple strength,
way above code, vowing that I would never
fall through it again;
“You could park a 1940 Buick on this bitch,”
they proudly boasted.
They have business cards that simply state.
TWO FUCKING GUYS CONSTRUCTION:
Never more than 3 do-overs on any project.
We whistle while we work, & gratefully
accept food & hugs.”
During the second summer of the “new” deck,
they returned to build a fabulous roof over it.
It has become another room, an extension
of our house. My wife has decorated it with
a dozen pots of brightly colored perennials.
I bought her a large & lovely ruby red
watering can, nestled in now between
purple & yellow blossoms.
The deck slider/swing has a carnival-striped
cover that always makes me smile, faintly
hearing a calliope whenever I look at it.
On bright summer mornings I enjoy snapping
photos of the shadow play from the wide beams
& the shapely pickets below the perfect
Our 3 year old granddaughter has learned
to ride her new pink tricycle safely, & it’s
a joy to watch her whizz back & forth
on the deck, laughing at rain.
Sometimes I sit out there with my yellow
legal tablet, writing or outlining poetry,
listening to the rustling of the thousand
leaves on the neighbor’s massive maple tree.
In the winter I can see Mt. Rainier peeking
through its barren branches, but after Spring
I have to stroll out to the alley to witness
Our perfectly manicured & watered lawn
always pleases me as I stare beyond it
to undiscovered worlds, and buzzing word hordes
that hive up behind every rhododendron bush,
every weeping willow or tulip tree ringing
the dark spaded soil of our flower beds.
It is raining hard at the moment,
and the passionate pelting
on our plexiglass roof
serenades & soothes me,
so very safe in my haven.
Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics
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