Laundry is put away. Bed made. Floors mopped and house straightened.
I prepare dinner to an audiobook, Mad Enchantment, on the life of Claude Monet, by Ross King. Monet, my favorite French impressionist, rests in the company of Van Gogh, Vermeer, and Gaugin. Framed prints of the artists’ paintings adorn the walls of my home.
Apple Goat Cheese Flatbread, with candied walnuts, accompanies a glass of Scott Kelley 2016 Pinot Noir, Willamette Valley, Oregon.
Flavors meld on my tongue as I color a lotus flower. Sweet water lily with history and meaning deep enough to fill an ocean. It blooms on the surface of water, its roots cradled by silt. A symbol of light and emergence from darkness. How serendipitous to color the water lily while traversing Monet’s garden.
From every space within my home, nature reveals itself through open windows and doors. Grass, trees, flowers, sky, and birds fill my world, inside and out. Patio chimes wrestle with a warm breeze like angels in the wind.
I retreat to my reading chair, where The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver, awaits my acclaim, having lingered in my library for years. The okapi, a fascinating mammal of the giraffe family, wears zebra-like stripes and inhabits the rainforests of Central Africa.
Alongside that book is Becoming Grandma by Lesley Stahl, a gift from my cousin when I earned the most gratifying role of my life. Stahl talks about the joys and science of new grandparenting. I’ll write my own book on the subject one day.
My eyes tire from the abundance of beauty in one simple day. Rising from my chair, I glimpse framed images of seventy-six inspiring writers. My perfect day has ended, but words and syllables will dance in my head through the night.