Devonne Brown

Hear those birds? We’re under giant oaks. Beside the trees, orange impatiens grow. the tops of them should be twirling like pinwheels blown with baby’s breath. They grow at the head of this path I made with the big branches on either side of it. Be careful, it’s uneven and easy to tangle your feet in it. Too late, let me help you up. 

Here at the bottom are the wild flowers I planted. I threw out some dirt and scattered four packets of shady, perennial wildflower seeds. That buzzing noise is from the bees. The morning glories and sweet peas on the fence aren’t blooming yet. I hope they do. The lawnmower dude cut them back once before I could stop him. They’re fine, just way behind. The sun doesn’t shine a lot back here, so it’s always cooler much cooler back here in the woods where the flowers grow. 

I planted big pots of begonias, the kind with the red heart shaped blossoms peeking out under their wings, I love their silken texture. They’re only on one side of the path, to give some asymmetrical interest as we journey back to the porch. You’ve avoided the branches well this time. 

Why did I put them there? I like the way they look. It’s also sustainable. 

I can rock in this chair with my laptop and think of all sorts of tales. The birds tell me a great deal of nonsense, but the squirrels, my god, they’re out of their minds. I better pay most attention to my own thoughts and leave the thoughts of others out of my writing. Influence is one thing, but I get downright plagiaristic in my thinking once in a while. Squirrels are powerful stupid, they worship nuts. 

When I get tired of the influence of the outer limits, I go indoors to write. My space there is an enclosed version of the outdoor space with windows and curtains. Instead of paths and flowers there are blue rugs, sofas, and chairs. Blue feels like the color of the sky and ocean. I don’t even have to touch it to feel it.  It helps lower my anxiety, does anything lower yours?