What it used to look like
Pagoda, you’ve fallen to pieces, safely tucked out of harms way until needed once again. How you look, without your roses to guard.
How I remember you weeping cherry.
Cherry, where art thou, my snow draped cherry?
Oh, that’s right.
Timber! Down you went while the deck was torn down.
You didn’t go alone. A hemlock, a fir, a pine tree, three juniper bushes with limbs as big as my arms. Two roses, as well.
The nursery tank cinder blocks went down one by one. Knocking off dirt, frozen bits and pieces while Girrl wagoned them to their temporary home. No longer needed, no longer loved. I tried to save you from Retro-Man’s plan. But never fear, you did find a home, not behind the house, near the garage. You’ve been put back into service– as a nursery tank somewhere else.
The sitting rock, the bird seed rock sits where last placed. I wanted Girrl to move it to the new spot. She gave me a look. I know that look. It’ll take a backhoe to move it. Again. Should of called it Rock That Moves Often.
You look lonely without your cherry tree guarding you, the bare branches whispering to you of what later spring will look like. What plans she has for you.
I think she sold you a fairy tale. You’re moving again, bucko, to the power pole and the pile of rocks found while digging the damn trench.
Up came the paving stones. Poor bubbling pot, how abused you look. No bubbling sounds from you since Two-Toes kept stealing the pipe that made you bubble. It didn’t help that he also chewed the hoses into easy to carry lengths. Now you wait for the damn backhoe to hoist you out of the hole we stuffed you into. Easier in, than out.
How many peanuts did that damn squirrel hide inside?
Pier blocks are organized. Paving stones and granite too. Ho- Ti gazes at you, he’s been moved to staging area too. The Japanese running grass he used to hide amongst is gone, like the delicate wrought iron edging. No wait, that survived, it’s just lumped next to…what is that? Do I really want to know?
I don’t think so.
As much as it’s gone, as much as I stare at the gardening catalogs piled on my desk, I wait.
And wait.
Blink. Blink.
Where’s the big equipment making more mess in my yard?
