I am away from the rabbit patch, right now. I am by the sea-and in the absence of fields. I am just a few hours away from my country dwelling, but it is a different place altogether with it’s streets full of cars , air full of salt and its’ “big shining water”. My niece Hayley and I are visiting my first -born, Brant for a few days.
Wilmington is a fancy place -especially when compared to the rabbit patch. It has historical significance and the charm that goes with it. It is rich in cultural arts. The residents come from everywhere and they come bearing their unique gifts . It is a friendly place by the sea and I like that. Still, I think my Brant, is the best thing that Wilmington has going for it.
I expect to spend my days here writing and cooking-two of my favorite things. The yard at Brant’s townhouse is well-manicured and tended by a staff. There is not a garden on the premises either. It seems I am left to my own devices as I am the only one without an agenda. I brought a few books along as there is a pool to read by and the grounds are a lovely place to take a walk. I think that the chances of a neighbor showing up with a bushel of stringbeans or cucumbers are pretty slim too, so I must resort to a life of leisure for a while.
I do not drive while in Wilmington. Thank goodness that Hayley is not hindered in the least by all of the activity in the street. The best I can tell. .. everybody is late for something and think they have nine lives. It is most unpleasant for me to even ride along in such chaos. Hayley, however sings along with the radio and takes great notice of the shops as we are zipping along-unless it says “ice-cream” I am unaware. I come back alittle shattered and am convinced that I am an old lady, after all! My commute to work is fifteen minutes through fields and horse farms-and I am very glad about it.
I am a firm believer that isolation is a missing factor in most of our lives. I make it a priority to have some of it daily, but several days of writing without interruption and reading til I simply don’t want to anymore, is a happy, but inconceivable notion. I will wonder about a lot of things during my “holiday”. I will call old friends and write pretty cards. I will write in Lyla’s journal-and in my own too. I will visit the ancient oak on one of my walks, which is surely sacred and grows just a bit away from Brant’s front door. I will cook a “Sunday dinner” on a Wednesday, and make a cake too.
Best of all, I will have conversations with Brant on late evenings. We will sit by a pond , with a splashing fountain, outside of his back door. There is also a small patch of woods with wisteria still blooming! I will listen to his dreams and he will hear mine. We will talk about our yesterdays and the hope of times yet to come. I will look at this beautiful human, generous and kind in spirit-a lover of all living things-and who has enough charm to brag about, and be glad he is my own son.
These are the kinds of things I wish to tuck deep in my heart, for a cold day in January -and again, when ice is falling on the rabbit patch on the longest night of the year and the earth is sleeping through it. . . I will remember my time well-spent in early summer away from the rabbit patch and
in the absence of fields.