Carolyn’s Online Magazine
TO SIT, PERHAPS TO LINGER
(In My Rocking Chair)
Ah, what a beautiful early summer morning. Unlike winter, when I curl up under a blanket on my couch, open the door to my patio and take my tray of goodies, set it on a table, and slide my waking body onto a glider (OK, it’s not a roking chair, but it’s the next best thing). As I sip my morning coffee I look out over the yard at the flowers by my New England rock wall—the delicate white head of Queen Anne’s lace (wild carrot) interspersed with yellow buttercups and primrose in shades of red, white and pink.
Behind the wall is my crop of Tiger lilies, which will serve as a meal for a deer when their orange blossoms begin to bloom—I’ll be lucky to snare some of the buds and blossoms to add to my salads and cooked dishes.
I used to consider those gray-haired persons who sat in rocking chairs on their porches as “old women” and “old men.” There must be something better to do, I’d think.
Now I am the gray-haired “old woman” sitting in the proverbial rocking chair.
After I read my paper and munch on some nuts, cereal, and cheese, it’s time to rise from my glider and get to work. However, I find it evermore difficult to arise and get going. Thus, I linger as long as I can allow myself to do so.
I watch Little Dog and King (our cats) run across the yard. My bird feeders are visited by small birds; red cardinals, and blue jay—some of them sit in a branch and yell at me, wanting to eat in peace.
“You mustn’t worry about my presence,” I tell them. “I’m the one who puts the food out for you.” They don’t listen and continue to yap at me before they gain the courage to get their nourishment.
Last month I watched four robin chicks grow: How Do Robins Grow From Egg to Flight?: Part 1
I arise and get my laptop. I can prolong my outside glider time if I do my writing outside. However, the distractions are numerous. King and Little Dog run across the yard, stop at the end of the driveway, then turn around and return. A squirrel (will King notice?), a chippy (Little Dog notices).
They try to settle on my lap but I can’t let them—after all, I’m “working,” I have a novel to write.
“There’s two deer behind the garage,” my husband Monte tells me.
I get up slowly, grab my camera, and notice one deer behind the house. I follow it around, my trigger finger shooting frequently. Suddenly the second deer appears. They meet in the woods. I watch their few moments of romance, the one deer licking the other deer’s neck. Then they separate, and return to their search for food. My husband is putting up a chicken wire fence around our garden in hopes that our garden isn’t planted to feed them. For now, one deer feeds on the white and pink Mountain Laurel bush, in full bloom.
I follow them about. One in the front yard eyes the squirrel-proof bird feeder, but thinks better of it as I call “No.” The other reaches up into our apple tree—so that’s why some branches have lost their apples.
Finally, the deer that let me walk almost up to them, shooting their pictures, spook, and off they run to their next stop.
I return to my glider, where I linger over my writing while basking in the sun, moving to another seat when necessary to prevent the sun from shining on my laptop screen. Yes, I do get my writing done. I accomplish the task while lingering in my proverbial “rocking chair.”
NOTE: The WordPress writing prompt for May 21, 2915, was “Linger.”