With the gift of a breeze that’s got my back, I pick up my pace in warm sunshine.
I’m out for early for a walk, a nearby lake my destination.
To the serenade of robins, I feel light on my feet as I jog past bee friendly yards and a bird friendly coffee shop.
I fumble for any loose change in my pockets.
I’m on a budget, but I know one cup of of dark roast won’t burn too big of a hole.
I’ve grown to love exploring my new neighborhood on Sundays after downsizing last fall to a new place.
Today I’m searching for any simple gifts I might find.
Feeling optimistic, I open the first little free library I encounter across from the lake.
Inside, planted next to an old copy of The New Yorker, I see neatly labeled packages of seeds for pole beans.
I grab one for a small raised bed I’ve been preparing and put it in my back pack.
One block further west, I encounter five more free libraries all proudly standing in front of the local hardware store.
I gravitate to one painted lilac and pull out a book on Alzheimer’s.
But I pass.
I know more than I’d like after a decade of caregiving.
I try again.
This time I find a children’s book on art and another on ants inside.
Perfect for my granddaughter and little grandson I think.
I’m embarrassed by my riches as I’ve left nothing in return. Yet I smile as I think back to last fall when I gave away so much as I moved.
But did I really?
After my walk, I return home to my small cottage to place screens in the windows of my tiny porch.
At 895 square feet, some may consider my cottage to be a closet, but I find it a castle.
I soon feel the breeze again, dancing now with the white curtains teasing my shoulders as I sit on the little love seat on my porch to relax.
I’m more than content as I survey the space before me.
I’ve been longing for a sweet little porch, just like my grandmother’s, since I was six years old.
And now that I’m a grandma myself, I finally have one to call my very own.
What a gift it is, though not simple at all.
I’m calling this one mighty grand.