They had moved in. Past the strawberries and the basil. Even past the blueberries. Into human spaces. Anchoring the chair to the Earth with strong green cords, waving flags of purple and white.
When did this happen?
I didn't notice the chair yesterday evening, when I joined my guests from Iowa in conversation around the patio table, a few steps away. Delightful group: two couples who had known each other for decades. We talked of the challenges of evolving economic drivers; of the disparities that perpetuate between city blocks; of the transformation of neighborhoods that occurs when people from different cultures find new areas to settle.
We talked of the importance of music, old and new.
Meanwhile, in back of me, the morning glories were continuing their steady advance into alien territory. New settlers in an established neighborhood, making themselves at home. Unexpected, but beautiful.
That's how it works, isn't it.