First there's the sound of the motor starting up. A few seconds later the scent comes over the wall like a wave, fresh cut grass. It's the smell of spring and contentment. I lie on my back in 'the thinking swing.' It's my refuge, the view is usually like the photo, and the sound is usually of birds. I'm not thinking a thing about the royal wedding, but I am thinking of tornadoes and the devastation in the southern states. And all that goes with. I'm grateful to be here, with the clean scents and birdsong, my own troubles put aside for the moment. They're not allowed here, as this isn't that kind of a thinking swing.
Miss Lupescu Poppet waits with contained impatience, tolerant of my need for a few minutes of quiet. I hear her anyway in my head. Finish me, you silly human, there is work to be done and I must get to it.
Miss Lupescu Poppet is right.