Beyond The Garden Fence

Each day he rose from bed at six, and made them both a cup of tea, “It’s looking cold” he might remark, or “Dawn looks some time away”. He was a man of fixed routine, who liked to live predictably and somewhere, far beyond his gaze, stood the mighty Pyramids, memorials from a distant time: homes to pharaohs long since dead and provisioned for eternity.

Each weekday, as he had for years, he sat behind his office desk, working on electoral roles at the town hall office near his home, watching the names come and go, marking out the births and deaths and talked about the voting age, and far beyond this cloistered space, the torrent flowed inscrutably between some challenged banks becoming the Niagara Falls ,witnessed by an awestruck crowd who stood and ate their sandwiches

Every year it was the same; he planted out his vegetables, potatoes furthest from the lawn and up against the garden fence, a decent crop of runner beans and always near at hand, pleasing in its growing bulk, a marrow; his exhibit at the village show. A shadow crossed the window frame, his wife was always at her chores and far away, beyond his view, a mighty iceberg broke away and started slowly on its voyage, populated by some birds, and even by a polar bear, watched by a passing ship where tourists stared and sniffed the air, and wondered at its growling might

On Sunday’s they might take a walk, depending on the time of year; nodding at familiar sights, or share a coffee with some friends and talk with them on this and that, and share the news that neighbours share and far away, beyond their sight, the people of the Himalayas, shielded from the bitter cold, raise their eyes in quiet respect and trace the mountains carved by ice and forces from the earth below, on which they stood, respectful of their mysteries,

And in the evening, home at last, sitting at their evening meal she might raise her eyes to him, and in their depths, for all to see, was all the wonder of his life: that she with gentle empathy, soft as the light from shining stars, might share with him her purest gift; a love of rare simplicity.

About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in character, creative writing, Fiction, Humanity, Life, Love, Peter Wells, Relationships, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Beyond The Garden Fence

  1. ksbeth says:

    i read this twice, and each time i got chills at the perfect ending. the simplicity -yes.


  2. Jude says:

    Beautifully written!


  3. You’ve done it again, Peter! And this time you’ve captured the very essence of happiness and contentment, the true nature of “value,” something I’ve been struggling to comprehend lately. Thank you for clarifying it so beautifully for me!

    Tears fall as I read this again and again, but they are tears of joy for a change. Thank you for that blessing as well!


  4. Quite poetic. Centered, and revealing that we can find peace within our own small space. I think that gives us strength for what’s beyond the garden fence.


  5. Love is grand…I’ll stay in L.A. just the same…


  6. joey says:

    Lovely. Simplicity.


  7. J says:

    Such a precious and priceless truth written with such enchanting imagery.


  8. eths says:

    I enjoyed catching up on your excellent writing!


  9. L O V E L Y, my darling Peter. x

    Liked by 1 person

  10. nelle says:

    Such eloquent writing! A joy to read.


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