They come everyday unless it's too cold or raining.  Now that Spring seems willing to stay, I hear their vibrant voices drifting across the back parking lot of my studio much more often as they arrive at the gazebo that sits like an oasis in the wide expanse of concrete there.  They wear the bright blue shirt of the grocery chain where they work. My back windows look out towards the store's loading dock on the other side of a huge border of ileagnus bushes, impenetrable to all but the birds who whirl in and out all day. There is also a small strip of pasture left between us, now full of golden waist high wheat grass and Bradford pear volunteers. Where the border ends and the pasture starts a little path joins our two worlds.

The gazebo was built by the office developer and carries a stern sign announcing the shady structure with it's porch swing and table is PRIVATE--but no one from the offices ever seem to use it.  And so over time, the sign has let the porch swing soften it's attitude and welcome company.  The women swing, leaning back like little girls.Their feet sweep the floor, as they soak up the filtered light, the fresh air while the birds swoop all around. The relief of rest is an almost visible presence around them. After a while, they always grow quiet, each alone with their thoughts, storing up the last few minutes of this interlude before at some unseen signal from one of them, they load their lunch bags and walk back across the path to work.

"And have you too, finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?"    Mary Oliver,  from 'Swan"