February 18, 2019 - The purloined wheelbarrow

        I sniff the air as I step out of my mansard-roofed home at the head of the Somerset Heights subdivision that borders against the best-known Botanical garden in the county. It is a fine morning after a long, sleepless night, and I proceed with my daily constitutional walk circling the posh subdivision.

        My walk almost complete, I notice my next-door neighbor, a slender blonde socialite carrying out trash.  How convenient of her to be hauling last night’s dinner party trash to the curb just as I am passing by her home.

        “Company coming?” I quip.

        “No company has departed,” she answers glancing up as she unloads the liquor bottles from a tablecloth bundle into a cardboard box at the curb.

        “Departed you say.  Are you just neatening up or are you wiping away all traces of a murder?”

        “The neighbor’s warned me about you saying you read too many murder mysteries.”

        “Did they?” I smile at her as I poke the box with my walking stick.

        “They say you have us all under constant surveillance.”

        “It is true, I must admit.  I watch, and I watch, and I watch, but mostly I am disappointed.”  She arrogantly tosses back her hair to look at me.

        “You old bat—”

        “Until last night.”

        “Excuse me?”

        “Oh, still playing the fine lady with your high society manners.”

        She shakes the tablecloth free of cigarette butts onto the pavement and starts to fold it. 

        “I counted twelve guests going into your home last night, yet only eleven guests coming out.”

        “Get lost you old bag.” She turns away, tucking the cloth under her arm.

        “I was disappointed until I recognized an intermittent squeaking around 3:30 this morning – then I was most delighted that my vigilance paid off after all these years.” 

        I couldn’t help but press a knowing smile on my face and watch her shoulders tighten.  She abruptly turns to speak to me, then decides against it, and moves quickly toward her front door. I call loudly to her,

        “If you’d returned my wheelbarrow, I might not have given it a second thought, your twelve guests arriving but only eleven leaving.  It didn’t take me long to find it at the far end of the gardens.”

        She glances back to stare at me as she walks slowly backwards up her front walk.

        “What are you accusing me of?”

        “I’m not sure how you will ever forget that squeaking wheel that pierced the darkness last night during, shall I call it a nocturnal escapade.”

        The blonde recoils with a gasp at the swarm of arriving police cars. 

        “You purloined my wheel barrow to move the body from your back patio to the Botanical Gardens.  Your biggest mistake was not having the decency of returning it to my potting shed.”

        “We found the body, just like you said we would.”

        “That’s her, officer,” I waved my walking cane at her as his men advanced.

       

NOTE:

This is a little essay after a “dialog” training at my monthly writer’s class. I was given the prompt “neighbor”.

If you own a squeaky wheelbarrow – you know it’s distinct sound on a hot summer night.

Hope you enjoyed.

April 5, 2017 – The surprising charm of a lone tulip.

        These last few weeks have held unusual, delightful surprises. 

Near the back property line in amongst the carpet of brown fallen leaves and thicket of briars I noticed a single, perfect pink tulip in bloom. All by its lonesome it has bloomed and it is more breathtaking to me than a display of a dozen tulips because of it being so poetically alone. It blooms in such an inhospitable location. It simply arrests me. Oh, what a joy!

It is near a compost pile area no longer used. I guess it must be one of those tiny bulbs that were too small to flower the next year so it was tossed into the compost bin and must have rolled out the back side to nestle in the leaf litter. For several years it has managed to grow a larger bulb each year and this year it has flowered in solitude.

But, again, this year has held more surprises. There is also a single large purple tulip in bloom near the base of the snow ball bush at the end of the old vegetable garden. The last time I planted tulips in that garden was seven or eight years ago. A little sliver of a leftover bulb has grown secretly underground for several seasons and suddenly this year it has bloomed simply alone and simply gorgeous. Did it do so only because it knew I needed the joy of it?

The next week I notice we have a stray bright yellow tulip in the patio garden under the birch tree.  It is a grand 18 inches tall and in full glorious bloom and it too, is a loner. It is a stunning surprise. I haven’t had tulips planted there in four or five years.  Again, when I pulled up the bulbs and dried them for replanting in the fall I must have missed an offset bulb that was too small to bloom and it has taken time to come to maturity.  What a joyful delight!

And today as I am walking to the mailbox, there is a single red tulip out near the driveway high up on the banking. It is diminutive in stature, less than 8 inches tall with its pair of graceful leaves looking like a Dutch painting against the dark soil. I am mesmerized by the large raindrops clinging to the tips of the leaves. I haven’t had red tulips along the drive in over 20 years.  How is it possible that I am enjoying this charming delight now?

Why, suddenly is a single tulip so much more arresting than a clump? Is it because we take in the entire tulip, the long stem, the full egg shape bloom, the pair of offset leaves, one always larger than the other, the central stem so round and straight coming out of the soil?

Single tulips are a joy to this gardener’s heart.

NOTE:  This is a writing exercise for my Writer’s Class.  We are to keep a Joy Journal and then write about something from that journal.  No more than 500 words – Due April 17^th – I am ahead of schedule.