A vine snakes around the deck post, entwining the solar light at the corner. I see the black-eyed Susans still lifting their dark orbs toward the soft grey sky. The bush which I call Rose of Sharon but which isn’t has started its bloom. Flanked by volunteer Mimosas, the plush green and delicate pink strikes a balance against the driveway’s pebbled asphalt.
Here in my outside living space, in the cool morning air, I cannot imagine having anything about which to complain. A truck rumbles past, headed to a neighbor’s house with new appliances. On the rooftop, squirrels skitter over the peak with a flick of a curved tail. Crickets chirp in time, reluctant to leave their morning song to hunt for food. Dawn blooms in full over my neighborhood. Traffic roars on the distant boulevards, but my little block sees only the occasional car, now that everyone else has gone to work
I don’t need much. A table for my laptop and coffee. A moderately strong wi-fi signal and electricity. I take my inspiration from the flicker of faith in my breast and the towering old trees above me. I cannot type fast enough to capture my peace in this moment.
It’s the thirty-first day of the forty-third month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.