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By S. Kent

Sometimes writers need to get away – away from phones and fax machines and deadlines, away from pressure. That’s just the way it is with writers; I know because I am one. I’ve been a successful columnist for nearly ten years now. For the last three of those years, my favorite escape has been a tumbledown cabin. The building looks as if it has stood in the same spot for centuries, and maybe it has. I suppose that’s why I like it. It’s tucked between pine trees in a peaceful place far away from the demands of my daily life. Now, standing on the front porch, I know I’ve managed to escape again, and I’m glad.

An early morning breeze wafts across my face, trying to rouse my sleepy mind, but I’m not quite awake yet. I yawn, and stretch, and yawn again. Instinctively, my eyes turn toward the only other cabin in this quiet haven. Its front porch is decorated with flowers of every kind. Bright blossoms spill out of large hanging pots, making the porch seem enchanted – as if it could fit into a child’s fairy-tale. I don’t even know who stays in this magical cottage. Maybe my neighbor is like me and just needs to escape to nature’s refuge from time to time. Maybe my neighbor lives here year round and thrives on solitude. I should probably know these things, but I don’t. The only thing I do know is that whoever lives in the cabin next to mine is very good with plants.

I imagine meeting my neighbor for the first time. I can picture myself shaking a hand with a distinctly green thumb. Gazing toward the home of my only human neighbor, I chuckle. My laughter floats across the air. Suddenly, my eyes spot a flutter of movement. As if nudged by the sound of my laugh, the front door of the enchanted cottage swings half way open. Now I am completely awake, and I’m curious. Who will emerge?

My neighbor steps into view, and my breath catches in my throat. The sight of her calls to mind stories of woodland nymphs. The occupant of the enchanted cottage seems somehow natural and yet magical at the same time. Auburn curls frame her pretty face. A patchwork quilt is wrapped round her body like a robe; she holds it in place with one hand. In her other hand she carries a yellow watering can. As her bare feet pad across the porch, I catch glimpses of shapely legs.

She moves gracefully, tipping her watering can first to one flower and then another. She’s singing, too. There’s a lilt in her voice as she croons, “You think you've lost your love. Well, I saw her yesterday-yi-yay. It's you she's thinking of, and she told me what to say-yi-yay.” It’s a familiar tune, She Loves You. Although this version sounds slightly different from the original Beatles melody, I must admit I like it.

All at once, the morning breeze turns playful. It coaxes strands of my neighbor’s hair across her face and teases the folds of her makeshift robe. I wonder if the wind will send this beauty scampering indoors, but she doesn’t seem inclined to leave. Still singing softly, she continues watering her flowers. The blooms suspended around her porch rock back and forth as she moves among them. With an easy gesture, she lets go of her quilted covering and reaches to steady the swaying plants.

Now she stands among her flowers without clothing and without shame. From the gentle swell of her breasts to the elegant lines of her legs, the girl is as perfect as the blossoms she tends. She interrupts her song every so often and speaks softly. I cannot tell if she is holding a conversation with her plants or simply thinking out loud, but it’s clear she is happy. She smiles, and even from a distance, the effect makes my heart skip a beat.

I watch in awe and admiration while my neighbor stands on her toes, stretching splendidly to reach the plants hung above her head. Leafy vines brush against her bare skin, making her laugh. When at last she empties the yellow watering can and steps inside her cottage, I know I’ve just witnessed one of nature’s most exquisite gifts. The sound of her song still lingers in the air. A smile spreads across my face, and I can’t help singing along, “She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah. She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah. With a love like that, you know you should be glad."

The End

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