My Backyard View

"Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain."
— Henry David Thoreau

Along with everyone else, we’re staying at home to “flatten the curve” in this strange beginning of 2020. When my horizon shrank to my house and the little patch of ground on which it rests, I became a close observer of what surrounds me. My backyard became my Walden Pond.

My backyard is sheltered and private, an appealing facsimile of rambling nature. The previous owners enjoyed all kinds of plants and popped into a bare space anything they found eye-catching. They created a pleasing jumble of green.

They loved succulents, and so do I, all those weird and wonderful shapes. This one looks like a miniature alien from Little Shop of Horrors. 

​I retreat to the backyard, escaping from the daily news to savor the last colors of autumn. 

Or to watch the birds forage and the bees busy at work. 

Sometimes I’ll spot the occasional skink, but I’m never fast enough to catch a photo.
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The backyard also includes a decaying bird bath the birds never use and something that looks like the skeletal remains of an umbrella pulled inside-out by the wind. It’s for drying clothes outside— which everyone does here—but I haven’t the knack of it yet. My American addiction to a clothes dryer persists.

I have never been a gardener—I have a black thumb rather than a green one—so I never know what anything is called. Some things I recognize though, like a geranium, rosemary, and a lemon tree. And we may have a bay tree.

But I’m coming to think that maybe looking deeply is more important than categorizing. It’s peaceful out there in my backyard, with the birds chortling and the scent of rosemary. I can feel myself settle as I wander its eccentric paths.