The front porch smells of the sweet olive hedge and the redwood on the other side of the fence.
The dirt under Bob's window holds the buried ashes of pets we have loved, marked with seashells and orange roses. Sunshine warms the lemon trees and hydrangea bushes and burns through the west facing windows at sunset.
The fireplace, long blocked, is filled with books. Each morning we find a family of crickets in our bathtub. We carry them outside to the safety of the backyard, and yet they return again each day.
We are living our days inside these walls and I am so grateful.