If she could have chosen any life, her mornings would have begun on a small screened porch surrounded by trees and clover and breezes off the lake.
With strong, hot coffee,
a favored paperback
and thoughts to fill a page.
If she could have chosen any life, her afternoons would have begun with a worn gravel road,
the rhythmic creak of the dock.
With trails for hiking,
a rope hammock stretched between two oak trees,
soft rain showers to clear the air.
If she could have chosen any life, her nights would have been filled with lightning bugs and grilled corn eaten around a wooden picnic table.
With laughter and conversation
and sugary strawberry cake served on mismatched plates.
If she could have chosen any life, her nights would have begun with a silver slice of moon rising over the cove,
a feather pillow,
the whir of a fan,
sweet dreams to carry her until morning.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Aoife O’Donovan, Lay My Burden Down