Arrival

She rose early, just as the midwinter sun was starting to stream through the window. It was warm and snug in her bed – leaving it was a chore.

She pottered out to the kitchen, put the kettle on and started to think about her day. Her thoughts were interrupted by a demanding meow. She poured some milk into a saucer and placed it on the ground.

The kettle boiled and she poured the bubbling water into the tea pot. She smiled – the bubbling hot water always looked so alive and joyful. She took the tea pot out on to the veranda and sat down to let the tea draw before pouring herself a cup.

She gazed at the china teacup in hand. It was delicate and dainty – so unlike her. But a woman needs her petty vanities, and the teacup was one of hers.

She finished her tea, and on a whim, she swirled the dregs three times left to right before tipping the cup over. It had been an age since she had bothered to read the tea leaves. The tea leaves were all near the rim. Never mind, she would try another day.

She picked up the tea things and went in to make her breakfast. Just toast. She wasn’t hungry this morning.

After breakfast she headed out to the garden. Just because it was winter didn’t mean there was no work to be done.

She spent the first part of the morning watering her plants, giving the plants the benefit of soaking up the water in the winter sunshine. She smiled and her eyes crinkled in the sun. It was good to feel its warmth upon her face.

She cast her eye over her garden cataloging the rest of her tasks in the garden for the day, her eyes falling on the flower beds. She had planted the anemone in the autumn, ready for the spring. She hadn’t always grown them, but the flower now resonated with her in a way it hadn't before. The daffodils she had planted were shooting and promised bright yellow blooms sooner than the spring. She wouldn’t plant the gladiolus until the early spring – the winter was too harsh a time for their planting. She would look at the vegetables and herbs in the afternoon.

After the watering was done, she turned to pruning the roses – all bare and thorny in their winter glory. They would shoot fresh and green come spring. People thought roses were delicate and needed to be tended with kid gloves, but she knew better. They were tough survivors, planted many years ago and continued to flourish in spite of many bitter winters.

After a short midday break, she headed back out to the garden. 

The vegetable patch needed weeding. Even in winter, the weeds appeared, trying to choke her garden. It was satisfying work, clearing away the weeds. The garden bed was warm and moist beneath her knees and she worked methodically around the vegetable patch until there were no weeds left. More mulch would help prevent more.

She would pick some of the beans and carrots when she was done. They would go nicely with dinner.

The beans were of the climbing variety. She always let them run rampant and found joy in their grasping tendrils and the speed at which they grew. The broccoli and carrots paid no heed to the beans, neither did the onions – there was room enough for them all in the garden.  Last winter there had been howling winds and her beans had suffered badly, so it was good see them vigorous and strong once again.

The herbs grew unchecked throughout the garden. Rosemary near the garden gate, lavender for love. The thyme and marjoram nestled next to the lavender. Sweet basil thrived among the beans. The garlic near the broccoli.  Mint and parsley grew in pots. Amidst the chaos of the garden, there was order.

By three o’clock she was satisfied with the garden and headed back inside. She carefully washed her hands, and noted that despite her work in the garden, her long fingernails, another petty vanity, were unbroken and very nearly clean. 

After another cup of tea and it was time to start the casserole for dinner. Lamb this time, a rare treat, but it had been on special, so she justified it that way. She would get a few meals out of it, never having mastered the knack of cooking for one.

She placed the lamb in the pot and added the tinned tomatoes, onions, fresh rosemary, garlic, and new potatoes. She never had much luck growing potatoes, but luckily the supermarket provided where her garden failed. A splash of red wine and the lamb was in the oven. It was time to tidy the house and shower before dinner.

She tidied the house quickly. She would never win a home beautiful competition, but she was proud of her house. It was her home, comfortable and lived in. 

She made a token effort at vacuuming – what was the point when by tomorrow there would be cat hair back everywhere again. She had long ago learned to live with it.

She found her way back into the kitchen. There were dishes to wash before dinner. She wished not for the first time that she had a dishwasher.

She was tired. Her fat, lazy, brown cat was weaving through her legs as she stood at the kitchen sink. The day was drawing to a close and through the window, and she could see the twilight set in and hear the chirp of crickets.

She hadn't always been tired. But just lately, it was all she felt.

She stepped away from the sink, almost tripping over the cat. The cat meowed in protest, wanting its dinner.

She fed the cat. She had forgotten to do so earlier, and so put out some extra.

She watched the cat eat, smiling at how easy it was to keep the cat happy.

She remembered other times, happy times, as she wandered through her home to take a seat on her lounge chair. Perhaps a nap was in order before dinner.

She closed her eyes.

***

He hadn't seen her in so long. It felt like forever, and somehow felt like yesterday. Time was fairly meaningless now that she was going to arrive.

Heaven knew how he'd waited for her.

But she was arriving today. Finally. Just as soon as she opened her eyes.