summer in the backyard

It's evening time and there's a big, fat and juicy moon right outside of my window. I look up, and there she is, peering down at me from her glittering post in the sky. I love summer nights like this, when the air is calm and the moon looms large. There's something so sensual and perfect about the darkness when it is scented with flowers, when you can walk barefoot in the grass and feel a teasing breeze at your back. It's familiar, like a lover, but still unknown, not tested, not yet tried. The evening ahead unfurls like a ribbon of midnight blue, and it's all mine for the taking.

Nights like this remind me of Paris in the summer, of Fraser Island, of far off and warm places. It makes me itch to travel, to feel ocean water at my feet and mountain winds at my back; it makes me eager to explore, to set out, to sail and forge ahead.

But then again ... it also makes me appreciate being home. There's nothing quite like having one's own backyard to sprawl about in. It must be said that one's own garden is a personal kingdom, and I'm rather fond of mine.

I have my vegetable patch, which is yielding a decent harvest this year. Giant zucchini, spicy hot peppers, cucumbers, lettuce, onions and some very jumbo sized tomatoes have sprouted up so far. I'm still waiting on my brussel sprouts and bell peppers to do a little more maturing, but otherwise I'm fairly happy with how the veggies turned out this year.

The herb garden is doing nicely too, with lots of parsley and dill for seasoning. There are some other things growing there as well, but that part of the yard seems to be more of my mother's domain. I leave it alone for the most part, and let my mom rule her patch of the roost. The herb garden is a favorite spot of BrightEyes (my elderly and possibly senile kitty), who likes to curl up and sun on the stones that border the garden. It's a sweet sight for a sweet spot in the yard.

There's my wonderful old spruce tree, and my patches of flowers, mostly in plantings of bright purples and pinks. There's nothing on this earth like the flowers one grows in their own patch of soil. It's a rewarding, comforting feeling that mixes home, love and days of sunshine in one big warm and fuzzy ball of summertime goodness.

So yes, I suppose it is safe to say that I am glad to be home. Even though the nomad in me can't seem to flip the 'off' switch and chill out from wanderlust, the homey-I-love-my-bed part of me is very happy to be tucked away here, in the mountains, in my old house with my old cats and old parents and old tree.

And besides ... where else would I see such a lovely moon tonight?

It's good to be home, even when I'm ready to set out and discover something new for myself.