June 12

It is morning. Sky is soft blues. Air is cool and full of song when I walk into it. The garden is clear and green and though the tall grass is gone, what is left is peaceful. I head to the potted wild first. There is a chirp, clack coming from nearby tree. According to the app, it is Starling. Starling is joined by Wren, Blackbird, Magpie, Goldfinch, Robin, Martin, Sparrow, Long-Tailed Tit, birds the app does not name and Pigeon the app does not hear. Potted trees and potted plants are hanging on. Some better than others. The yellowing tree I would have thought was dead seems to be getting taller and more yellow. I hope there is life beneath the soil because I’m pretty sure something I did not plant is still eating or borrowing or burrowing in each of the large pots, and in some of the smaller ones too.

Yesterday the cousin of the three-day gardener who left his lawnmower in my backyard long enough for it to pay rent, came to ask if I needed my grass cut. I have been picturing myself cutting the grass long enough to say yes. It wasn’t so much the thick stalks and squirrel-high patches but the toddler-high grass in the patch outside of the garden that I am responsible for but do not use. We negotiate how long it will take and that he will remove the garden waste and the waste they did not remove last time. The gardener’s cousin did a better job than the gardener. In just three hours, he and his partner cut and cleared, cut and cleared. What’s left behind is a place I can imagine sharing with café guests.

This morning, there is a different vibe in the garden. I can’t quite name it but it’s that feeling when someone else has been in a space and something is out of place. For a moment, I could be anywhere but the café. I walk around but still feel it even with the wind blowing. It is the potted plants and potted trees that make it feel home. Later, I will add top soil. Later still, I will add another potted plant or potted tree. The birds chirp their opinions.

At the café, the food bowl is nearly full and there are seeds and seeds in the wooden café. I am not the only one who feels this different vibe. The nuts and nuts are gone. Nearby trees are filled with song. I pour more seeds and seeds and nuts and nuts and hope nearby birds and guests and the feeling I am trying to name but can’t will return to the café.

To hear this morning’s sounds, click below.