There is a house that I sometimes walk past with Bea, on those days when a long walk is in order. It’s a funny little house, with a whole menagerie of cement animals decorating the patch of a yard. A stone wolf guards the porch steps, and several brightly-colored parrots hang from the eaves. Two enormous stone toads glare at the passers-by. But the pièce de résistance are the two ponies, ancient and weathered, anchored to a sapling and gazing placidly at the passing traffic. It’s a wonderful yard, ridiculous and tacky and simply fabulous.
Here’s how I know I’m not a particularly “green” person, or all that conscientious about environmental concerns, or a good citizen who uses “only what you need“: after a long run on a cold day, I take a long shower. There’s something so perfect about the hot water warming up the numb bits, and the slight massage of the super-strength water pressure. I stand there and tell myself to turn off the water, but I don’t. I just stand there. I am a selfish person.
This despite the fact that I know Denver has water issues.
But I haven’t washed my car in like six months. Does that compensate at all? Maybe a little?
The light coming in the window
Right now the afternoon sunlight is pouring through my windows in a smooth, yellow light. I love the brightness of it, and the way the sun throws shadows of the plants in the windowsill onto the sheer curtains. The window is open and a breeze floats through, carrying with it birdsong and the chatter of people walking down the street.