Fencing in the forest

  I juggle a steaming cup of English Breakfast and a bowl of Quaker Steel Cut Oats in one hand, and slide the screen door open with the other. The eyes squint. The brow frowns. The day’s colors begin to settle on my skin. Some purple establishes itself on the Salvia. The Zinnias pinken and the Cardinals redden. Around here, things know how to fall into place. At night, a rafter of turkeys strut, gobble, and hoist their way up to my grandfather’s pine trees. Now, I drag my slippers across the deck and place my breakfast on the railing, between Petunia and Black-eyed Susan. The chair is never quite where I want it to be, so I tug it lightly, pull it slightly. Never to my own satisfaction. I sit myself down and it hits me that it rained last night, as I begin to feel the cool water from the pillow seeping through my pajama pants. Ah well. I bring the cup to my lips and test the waters. Too hot. I take a spoonful of soggy oats instead, letting the spice of the cinnamon marry the sweetn...

It was sunny and Mattie lay on her towel - her knees making a pyramid as her feet dug into the sand. The further she dug, the cooler the sand felt between her toes. She was wearing a bikini and sunglasses, but staying well under the sun umbrella. The shade was her best friend. With her hands behind her neck, she gaped at the clear blue sky hanging over her. Her mother was enjoying a mid-August read beside her. Mattie peeked at her occasionally  to try and catch her dozing off and poke fun at her if she did. It was a running joke between the two that the mother would never admit to falling asleep in a public space. Out of the blue, Mattie found herself eavesdropping on the conversation taking place the next parasol over. She couldn't really make out the features of whom she figured were a late-middle-aged husband and wife, maybe taking some time away from the grandchildren. The man wore trunks and a cap to cover his scalp. The woman sat to his left, making it hard for Mattie to get ...