My cousin has a nice, peaceful farm about six miles from me. Here, she has a little cottage by their pond. Sometimes it has been a haven for her granddaughters, so they have called it a playhouse. In the distant past when her own children were teens, she and I used to go out to a similar building with hot, steaming coffee mugs and sit and talk... We used to laugh that WE were the ones in the playhouse and her kids were watching television
She has a lovely dock, and anyone who comes usually catches a fish or two in her stocked pond.
Turning down her drive, we are welcomed by a cowboy couple on both sides of the road.
Her hubs was once a pickup man for a rodeo, so we see signs of the horses, the spirit of the cowboy, the old West, here and there... I used to go out often for a cup of coffee and a pit of peace. She also came to my house for the same. Sometimes when she was a bit moody, she'd holler at me to turn off my mournful music... (Celtic, Enya... I love that kind of soul filled songs)... she/ not so much.
Yesterday and the day before she brought down her mower and her daughter, and they worked on Mom's yard while our mower is in the shop... Ah, the delights of summer grass... It never ceases the cycle, eh?