Back Yard

So I’m trying something new. I’m sitting downstairs in my back yard on Saturday afternoon, writing this entry as some little kids play loudly in the back yard of the townhouse next door.

Our little redbud tree (which I neglected to mention yesterday) is blooming pink overhead. There’s a strange bush in the corner of the yard with some really beautiful pink flowers -- I’ll post a photo of it above so someone can tell me what the heck it is. There’s another bush (below) with dark, glossy leaves and little spikes of white flowers. (How can I not know what’s growing in my own backyard?)


It’s so great to write outside! Why haven’t I ever done this before? I usually leave my laptop plugged into the wall and never take it anywhere.

I was going to write today about writing -- why I do it, why I started and can’t stop, that sort of thing. But I’m so into my surroundings that I think I’ll save the whys for another day.

We have a little bench in our back yard that the building co-op purchased a few years ago. Every winter the super breaks it down and brings it inside for storage, and every spring he puts it outside again. We also have a nice outdoor table that belongs to the super, with an umbrella and everything. That’s where I am now.


And I wish you could hear all the noises. In addition to the kids, who seem to be in an above-ground pool shaded with a tarp (which seems so weird to me, in Manhattan), I hear a soft background rush of passing cars on Third Avenue -- more like white noise than anything. A distant car horn. A piece of power equipment (a saw?) in a building nearby. An occasional bird. Layers and layers of sounds. And yet, it’s not noisy. It seems very peaceful!