My garden shed. You know, where the clippers, mower gas, and Spanish moss are stored!
Shed, I adore you. You please me. When you were brown, you were sad. Now you're blue. With some green. And you are fun to look at from the kitchen window, all winter long. You make me happy, garden shed!
You are adorned with my old broom-flying-witch-weather-vane piece that blew off the chicken coop and broke in a wind storm. You have a vintage mermaid float attached to your eve, the twin of the one I gave Kirsten, after we found them 13 years ago in a thrift store. Your good luck horseshoe came all the way from England when my best friend in fourth grade visited her grandma and brought it back for me. Your galvanized bbq table turned potting bench delights me. You are the best blue garden shed.
I love the bird house next to you.
I love you blue bench, by blue bird house, by blue shed.
I especially love you. Old green rockerless, rocking chair. A gift from my mama, 16 years ago. When I was newly pregnant for the first time, young and secretly terrified. Before your rockers were broken, you held me, rocked me, while I held him, rocked him. My boy. Now 15. No longer rockable. And you remind me. That he is still my baby. Still my little boy. And I love you green chair. You held me.