A Gift

Each summer, Scott labors over our garden -- faithfully planting, watering, trimming.  This year's weather was so humid, although the garden was beautiful, I chose to enjoy it -- mostly -- from the window.  But now, the mornings are cool enough, I can grab a liter of coffee and enjoy one of the best gifts anyone has ever given me -- my husband's version of "Longwood Gardens" (so say the haters).  There's the constant flurry of squirrel activity -- flicking bushy tails, tree branches waving under their weight as they swing from limb to limb, nails scratching bark and the "crick, crick, crick" of their call.  I hear the honk of a rippling black arrow long before it flies overhead.  Splashes of bright color peek from still-green leaves, though most of the garden has been cut back, prepared for its winter repose.  The squeal and hiss of brakes on the street out front signal the arrival of a new school year.  And, almost as if on cue, a leaf falls.