Life Goes On

May 5th, year unknown.

Today I sat at the window overlooking the garden. The same way that housecats do, though I imagine to them it is all much more exciting, with every flap of a feathered wing, and every yap of a dog, I imagine they must see the vastness of a world they cannot touch opening up to them. With thoughts like these, I overlook my well manicured garden with its many rows of perennials.

May 9th

The roses have begun to bud! 

With each passing day I watch as their delicate petals unfurl from their tight little hugs. Several of my plants are even in full bloom now, their petals puffed out decadently in the first hours of morning light. I wish I could cut one, and bring it inside, and let my little nook be filled with their sweet floral scent. Oh to smell a rose! I would give anything for one last whiff. 

 ***

May 15th

A family of squirrels have made a home in the oak tree now. I watch her day by day, as Momma– I’ve named her– scurries up and down the tree’s trunk carrying soft scraps to pad her nest. 

July 14th

The babies have begun exploring outside the nest now. I’ve even seen them playing with each other in the grass, tumbling and chittering as they wrestle.

August 6th

Today I stared at the peeling paint of the windowsill. I stare closely at the chips and cracks along the eggshell coloured paint. My fingers long to scrape it, and feel the satisfying curls beneath my nails. Strange, the things we miss. How we find ourselves too busy, too productive, too bored. But not now. Now I sit. Now I listen to branches scrape against the house in the breeze. Now I watch egg shell coloured paint wear away, day by day. 

 Suddenly I understand the fascination and fixation of children and animals of all things small. I remember as a child I could sit in the grass, the slivery blades like itching papercuts against my bare legs as I watched for bugs. I’d forgotten things like that. Funny how in the great torrent of life– phone calls, text messages, emails, hours spent scrolling on social media feeds. The irony of things that seem like life or death in the moment. But never once have I stopped to think, I wish I’d taken more work calls. I wish I’d watched more reels. I’d wished my post received more likes. 

***

Pill bugs. I used to search for pill bugs. I was fascinated by how they’d curl and roll as soon as touched. Tiny 'insect armadillos' I’d used to call them. This made me think of Molly, the way she’d poke at bugs with her nose, and lazily bat at them with a paw. I miss her.

August 7th

She must have found her way, I don't know how, but she sits in front of me. She looks healthy. She looks happy. The color of a peach, with splashes of cream, her coat appears as soft as ever. I wish for nothing more than to feel her brush against my skin, her weight thrown against me as she slides against my legs. She wears a brand new collar now, and not the cheap kind. Her tag is fancy looking and etched with roses around her name– though I can only see the front. I speak to her softly, and I swear upon everything I knew in life– her ears perked forward as I spoke. I told her I missed her. That I hope she is well and loves her new family, that I hope it’s with our neighbor Mrs. Martha, who’d always adored her. I told her I love you Molly. 

She looked content sitting in the sun– the patch of sunlight that cascaded through the open lace drapes. The tips of her fur cast in a warm glow.

I assume Molly went home and I'm glad for it. Glad that she'll be warm and safe. I think I'm crying now, but I can't tell. Maybe it's the darkness outside, the rolling streaks of grey clouds bleeding across the landscape like wet paint.

October 15th

The family of squirrels have all left now. Looking at the bare branches of their vacated home poking lazily at the somber sky, I cannot blame them. They likely left in search of somewhere warmer to wait out the winter. I wish I could offer them my home, someone ought to live in it. But with their absence and the changing seasons, I feel the gloom settle over my house and heart.

November 5th

The roses have all died now. Even the few willful buds that endured past the first frost have fallen now. Their petals melting off to form little piles, like discarded confetti at a child's birthday party. I wish I could care for them. I wish I could sweep away the little drifts. I wonder who will prune them in the spring.

***

My spirits are low today. My thoughts keep wandering, as I wander this vacant house– though I no longer seem to take comfort in pacing through my home. Where am I to go? To the kitchen where I cannot eat? To my room where I cannot even crease the duvet or sink my head into a pillow? Worst of all, the library– rows and rows of books, never again to be read by me. I miss the musk of their pages and the subtle grit of paper under my fingertips.

Your house is so messy. Mom used to say. 

It’s lived in. I would say. 

Well now it is no longer. Dust has settled on every surface. 

November 12th

Today I watched my garden torn apart. They dug out my roses. Chatter of new pavement. I couldn't bear to watch as my beautiful plants were uprooted and hauled away. I took shelter in my library– though now it's empty, all my books are gone, packed into neat boxes and carried off. I miss walking along the shelves, my fingers caressing the spines, my mind softly muttering their titles.

November 19th

My days seem to pass like fallen leaves drifting by– which is to say I’ve almost forgotten what day it is. In life, we used to sit here in the warmth of the window. Molly in my lap an orange cream splash of purring fur. I'd stroke her slowly, a book in my free hand. We’d sit like that for hours. 

Now there are no chairs. No furniture. No books. Now there is nothing. An empty room with peeling paint.

December ?

My memories seem hazy now, as I look out from the yellow trimmed window. My mind is a blank canvas. As if the ocean of my thoughts sucked me up and swept me under, like a boat sinking to pieces at the bottom of a raging sea. 

***

I feel as if I've forgotten something very important, but that very mention slips away from me. I watched the empty garden for hours, admiring the way the light struck the fresh pavement.

***

Today I saw a cat. She was orange. I can only see the back of her tag that reads Martha, below it, a phone number. She seemed to look right at me, for some peculiar reason. We spent the afternoon together, gazing out the cold frosted window.

I can’t place her face or these feelings, but somehow I am at ease.