“Have you even lived on your own?” I asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “Even last year, when I moved out, I kept going back over to his house, even though I knew he didn’t really love me. He said he did, but I know he didn’t.”

I turned her words over in my mind, like stones, looking at each side of each of them.”

“Perhaps it would be good,” I suggested, “for you to figure out your core, to become a strong independent woman, with known boundaries,” before you go back into any close relationships.”

“I think it would,” she said.

                                                                                          *****

I pushed the camera down in tall grass, pointed it up into the sunlit blades, and snapped a shot, blind.

Then I extracted the camera from the grassy mess, flipped on the LCD screen and peered into the shiny glass.  

Thatched, crossed, beautifully sunlit blades — captured in detail was a pure ribbed and vaulted glory.

                                                                                          *****

I pulled off the cover and glanced down at the tops of the valves, damp and webby and spidery. The manifold linked the valves together and then sent three-quarter inch pipes plunging into the ground. It didn’t make complete sence. I sat down on the low wall and looked harder. The one inch pipe was the supply line, the three-quarter inch  pipes fed each zone. Looking more closely, I could see that some of the pipes on the manifold were threaded. Then I knew. This beast could be screwed apart and another valve easily added.  By means of a few intricacies, I could yet turn my backyard into Eden.

                                                                                           ******

I’ve noticed of late that both the beauty and the way forward are often found right in front of us, within the peculiarity of the details.

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