Knitting outside on the patio when it's not too hot is glorious. My kitties plead at the screen door for a brief while, and finally succeed in wearing me down; I bring them out, one at a time. Each has learned he may be outside as long as he sits quietly on my lap; any move toward the ground results in his finding himself back inside.
So we sit and watch the birds...and watch the bees...and watch the boughs moving with the breeze...we even watch the ants who occasionally trek across a flagstone just beneath us. Time slows to keep pace with the ant, eyelids grow heavy, hands on fur relax.
When restlessness returns and paws climb to my shoulder, a walkabout is in order. "Do you see the new columbine? Such a soft pink...and this is the plum tree...see those purple leaves? Oh, look at the teeth on the Lady's Mantle...and see, it will be blooming soon." We stroll for a while, cat eyes wide and whiskers twitching, from one side of the yard to the other, until time to switch cats. "In you go! OK, Lance...your turn." And the lap sitting begins again... and we watch the birds... and the chippies... and the squirrels....
I put my feet up, and rest my head. I listen...and breathe deeply... something is blooming so sweetly...I grow a little drowsy...a wren is calling through the clear air...a catbird alights on the birdbath and enjoys a little splash. Lance nods in my lap...We live in Eden, I think.
Eden in the twenty-first century...intoxicating viburnum erases all thought; the sweet scent of newly-mown grass hitchhikes on a zephyr, passes beneath my nose, inducing nostalgia. Enormous Hosta leaves unwrap themselves silently; unseen, tiny insects colonize their prize: a gossamer blossom.
Somewhere a dog barks; traffic in the distance moves along as folks head for home. A mom greets her returning school children up the block.
Somewhere beside me, on the patio seat, is my forgotten knitting.