In my garden

I watch her take up her spot in my garden every morning

she takes out her laptop

and spends hours writing,

in all weather except rain

she is there.

When the sun is high at noon

she puts her computer back in a small blue bag

takes up a position in the shade

and begins to read.

She has a disabled son

who spends the time romping by the flower garden

or standing by the pond

I fear one day he will fall in and drown

so I watch him closely.

But it is his mother who interests me

her dreams of being a writer

her beautiful face and golden hair.

Her son comes in at lunch time and I have a meal prepared for him

His mother never comes in

the boy watches television

and then at three

she says good bye

leaving me to my silent library,

and my lonely manuscripts.