In my garden

I watch her take up her spot in my garden every morning
she takes out her laptop
and spends hours writing,
in all weather except rain
she is there.
When the sun is high at noon
she puts her computer back in a small blue bag
takes up a position in the shade
and begins to read.
She has a disabled son
who spends the time romping by the flower garden
or standing by the pond
I fear one day he will fall in and drown
so I watch him closely.
But it is his mother who interests me
her dreams of being a writer
her beautiful face and golden hair.
Her son comes in at lunch time and I have a meal prepared for him
His mother never comes in
the boy watches television
and then at three
she says good bye
leaving me to my silent library,
and my lonely manuscripts.

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