My Window

View from my window at dusk
My paintings are revealing.
I see windows.
Windows with limited views. Windows with hope filled visions of sunny spring days.

I spend most of my time in a small bedroom that is part of a larger home living in community.

I have a small garden in a small yard that I spend time in and sometimes a porch in front squeezed between rows of houses in a tight neighborhood.

Last night while my partner napped escaping from a long day of work as an "essential worker", I quietly went downstairs and prepared a couple tapas.

I've learned from a young age, from my family, parents and Aunts and Uncles to create a beautiful evening from what you have to work with.

In the frig, a chilled bottle of chardonnay from Chili. $4. And leftover pesto and feta. I made toasts with the pesto, feta and drizzled olive oil on top. I arranged a plate of sweet peppers with dipping sauce.

While I waited for my partner to wake up, I watered the garden. I was excited to see the squash seedlings pop their little heads up with the broken seeds still attached. I felt the warm like mediterranean breeze caress my shoulders,  I watched the water shimmer and dance from the hose onto the thirsty plants.

My partner came out, sleepy eyed, rested, choosing a chair in the garden. I brought out the wine and tapas.

We laughed and talked. We listened to the neighbors barbecue.  The children playing. Everyone gracefully keeping the noise level low in yards with close quarters.

We talked of the future.  How maybe we would look back at this day as time well lived, sharing stories in a typical working class backyard drinking inexpensive wine feeling the sun on our faces, watching the vegetables grow, not needing much, appreciating what we have, just being together and alive during a time of uncertainty and heartbreak.


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