Stark Yard

Through the glass starkly. What are we looking at? The end of the world as we know it? Or a fresh beginning starting with no air pollution?

I can see my Queen Emma Lilies, red ginger with browning leaves, Areca palms and coco palms, limestone tiles and lounge chairs, propane powered tiki torches.

Paradise in luxury today is devoid of visitors. No one to eat the purple sticky poi at the hotel luaus.

It’s lovely out there, wish my fingers were in the dirt, wish I wasn’t injured, wish all the paperwork was done. All the basil plants died.

It’s the watering, it needs to be robust not doddering. Drip drip or bubble spray, double double trouble and toil, the yard is filled with dirt not soil. Nutrition free scabby stuff where weeds grow faster than hibiscus or even naupaka . Store bought plants wither in the unyielding sunshine. Bringing in the compost and layering it in this week – growth’s beginnings stink.

Published by Ms. C. G. Tripp

Catherine G. Tripp, Writer/Investor a lifelong mix. Left brain and right brain battle for dominance. I wrote the marketing materials for my mortgage brokerage, had a personal finance column at Examiner.com, wrote essays, short stories and poems published in school papers and magazines then literary journals. If my writings were a color, they would be yellow, bright as sunlight, highlighting the salient portions, not obscuring the past but deconstructing air brushed stories, finding humor and courage in the unloved corners.

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