A Restless Evening

We moved to Rolling Hills Estates, a city located about 20 miles southwest of Los Angeles in the spring of 1993. Feeling overwhelmed, this was our fourth residence in just three years. We initially chose this area for it’s location to work and family. With the exception of the proliferation of squawking peacocks, it turned out to be one of the most peaceful places we’ve had the pleasure of living in. There was a horse trail behind the house and we often watched equestrians trot by. We grew a garden that yielded a huge amount of zucchini and root vegetables. The only trouble was our carrots mysteriously disappeared every time we planted them. One day we happened to look out the window, only to find the culprit in the act. It was our beagle, Bagel! When we saw him digging them up and eating them, we put a fence around the patch.

Poem written on June 23, 1993, Rolling Hills Estates, California

A Restless Evening

I could lie softly on the plush living room carpet

And eavesdrop on the noisy crickets outside serenading

the dusk with songs of summer.

I could sit straight up in the oak rocker

And quaff the tart lemonade sweating

In the pitcher with fruit slices stuck to its sides.

I could rest on my elbows on a blanket out back

And inhale the earthen essence emanating

From the cool patch of green garden.

I could recline lazily in the rope hammock

And watch the white cottony clouds wandering

By in the vast darkening ocean of sky.

I could lower my body into the warm clawfoot tub

And soak up the lavish gel soothing

To my newly sunburned skin.

Yet I stretch out on a comfy couch

And spy on a quiet man sitting on the floor unravelling a paperback

With a happy dog snoring at his feet.