Backyard Hour

This evening, having no real place to hang out outside (living in a balcony-less apartment), I ventured into the next door neighbours' backyard where the rooming house landlord, also owner of my building, had cemented a patio recently, complete with wobbly plastic lawn chairs. Three were grouped invitingly around a chipped, circular white plastic table. A green and white striped umbrella, secured in place with a cinder block and braced against the grey-green of the wall shingles completed this inviting spot for a read. Book in hand, I wedged myself against the building, a forest green plastic chair for a seat, and the surface of the unpopulated table served to support my novel.

This is an odd little place. Facing morning sun and shaded in the late afternoon, created adjacent to a rare urban vegetable garden flanked by cobalt blue fencing, a collection of 10 patio chairs lean against the wooden boarder wait for occupants. Often the rooming house residents will eat outside at this enclave, usually after six. I was able to have an hour of relative solace in this communal patio before any intruders decided to join me.

The eastern rear of this house is a gravel driveway. The corner of the drive, between the garden and a walkway on the north side of the house is the nexus of this spare space. People do walk through, entering or exiting the residence, or just to conveniently access the alley beyond. A few such meanderers did pass by, nodding hello. I was grateful the usual week-end 'garage sale' was not taking place today. The drive serves as a stall space for neighbours to sell used wares most weekends. The lack of merchandise was strange, but welcome.

The alley is well travelled. Garbage and recycling containers inhabit the edge of a 10 meter laurel hedge on the south boarder of the yard, which allows easy access for the souls that make a few cents per bottle, when rummaging through the debris. No bottle seekers came today while I was reading. Quiet for an hour.

The cedar across the alley, rusty above its top third, was the loud harbinger of the sun's relentlessness of the past weeks. This observation was a slight diversion of thought as I momentarily looked up from my book. No wind blew. The inner city chatter on the streets was a peaceful din.

A treasured hour.