Not having a car, my garage space became a covered patio. Each day feels as if I were on holiday - as if I were "eating out" in my own garden paradise.
Upon the covered patio, come sunshine, come rain, come hail, I am so very happy. Here I sit, a writer at my table, a coffee, a simple breakfast and the fresh air. How could I ever need to travel when under this roof the English weather is so very wonderful. The rain becomes heaven's music, the sunshine comes softly filtered and the ambience is always, ever always, ever so relaxing.
The patio has born so many summers, echoed our laughter and supported the children's running feet. Her appearance is of an old rock, so much lichen has grown, dappling her regardless of any shade. Soil gathers between the stones, bringing slim wands of green each spring, a sight that has Jerry out there with the radio and a beer, digging at it, restoring the patio to her subtle monochrome beauty.
The patio had an eclectic beauty, so much like the rest of the garden. If there was a single thing there that wasn't once something else, I never knew. Jed would joke that only the barks of the dogs weren't recycled, well, perhaps that and the sunshine. The patio stones made a mosaic of sorts, stones collected as left overs from renovations, sitting together as pretty as autumn leaves from different trees. There was an artistry to it too, a fluidity I loved. We used to sit there, Jed and me, watching the garden grow each season - vegetables and wild flowers, birds playing in the pear tree, butterflies visiting the blooms. I think me and him were like that patio too, happy to fit together however it worked, seeing the beauty in what nature brings.