Backyard Vacation

Grab your coffee, girls and boys. Add sugar or creamer if you’d like, and come out on the porch with me. Cozy? Good. It’s time for weird questions and thought provoking statements, er coffee talk.

I have a strange imagination. And I’ve been told that I see things differently—that I gather the little details and notice the tiny things within the whole. I twist them and let my imagination play with them. It’s not just who I am, it’s fun. For instance, the view from my porch…

Oh I see the dollhouses up and down the street with the little still-life scenes of furniture and family. I see the leaves tumbling along and the brightness of flowers trying to punctuate the impending death that fall brings. I watch the kids as they play and learn and grow. But at sunset, I leave this little neighborhood. I don’t see the ballfield, I see the Serengeti.  The lone tree behind the bleachers and field beyond take on a strange Wild Kingdom quality as the sky turns orange. I imagine an oasis with gazelles and a lion in the tall grass. It’s very picturesque.

And then the birds come out across the street. Thousands swarm and swirl in the sunset above the administration building kitty-corner from us. I think they’re swallows, but in the glow of the orange backdrop they become little more than silhouettes…and their motions remove them from reality. They transform into a live version of the footage I’ve seen over the years of the bats flying out of the caves in Mexico at dusk. By the thousands they swoop into the night sky in search of insects. And I don’t have to take a vacation to Mexico to see it, I only need to squint and let my imagination play.

So where’s the coffee talk question? Well, this time, I answered before I asked. What’s in your backyard? If you squint just right, or let go of reality and let your imagination roam, where do you go? Spend a day, an evening, a moment on your porch, sitting on your steps, tuning out what’s really there…and tell me what you see. I have the Serengeti and Mexico. And the poor hippie—while he smiles at my silliness—is subjected to the squeals of joy when the sunset is just right and I drag him out of the house, or away from his muse for a moment, to point and act like a kid, while I take a free vacation from reality.

Thoughts? Tell me what you think...

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