I am drawn by an invisible tug, a need for something more than the walls of inside. 

I move outside and sit with the sun on my back. The metal edge of the table frame burns my arms as I lean against it, but it feels somehow awakening.

The finches drink from the hummingbird feeders before heading to their seed; like a cocktail before dinner.

The dog hip-bumps me while I sit and whines as if to say, “Mom, I need your touch.”

A harmonious song wafts through the yard as the chimes dance on the breeze.

Decorative yard art catches the same breeze, but each piece moves at its own speed.  Like us, I suppose.

Plants whose names I don’t remember reach for the sun and drink up the remains of yesterday’s watering.

A big black bee – Google says if it’s a male it can’t sting me – buzzes through the garden, but despite what Google says, it sounds like a small plane and causes concern when his dance brings him too close for comfort.

Pigeons, lots of pigeons perch on neighboring roofs and fences.  But there are two – I believe the same two, since it’s always two – have taken a liking to the large, aqua fountain in the center of the yard.  How rude to flaunt your winged beauty as you bathe in front of me.

All too soon, the desire for outside wears off.  The sun gets too hot on my back, and the now visible swelling in my feet matches the tight pull of skin.

But what pushes me inside is not the heat, but the incessant rambling of the male voice on the radio. 

“Talent on loan from God.”

Sweet husband, I love you. But yeah – I’m going inside.