It’s morning as I begin writing this and I just came in from spending time in the backyard. If the neighbors who saw me yesterday, caught sight of me again this morning, they’d swear I slept in my clothes because what I’m wearing looks the same.

Years ago I started buying 5-packs of men’s V-neck undershirts in white and I’m almost due for a new pack. I always slip on a clean one before heading outside, but once they’re permanently stained, they’re cut into dust rags. Being covered in dirt and dragging around a watering hose while wearing a crisp, white t-shirt goes against how I was raised.

Faded and broken in, boot-cut blue jeans from Land’s End are the bottom part of this ensemble. They need to be thick enough where nothing can sting me, but soft enough to move freely and I wear them until they get holes in them, but then they’re replaced. When holes in jeans became popular I had many compliments on my jeans, but they didn’t know that every hole was an indecent the jeans protected me from.

Two pairs of Nike running shoes that no longer run. That gripper sole comes in handy when the yard gets slippery. I alternate between them because they get soaking wet and muddy, but I slip them off before coming inside. They lay on the deck, but once dry I beat the soles together to release the dried dirt and bring them in. They always sit in the same spot, so I never have to search for them.

I refer to these clothes as my yard uniform and the dogs know when I’m dressed like this, we’re going outside and there will be no rush.

This morning after I watered everything I sat on the deck and just listened. There was a slight breeze and the branches of the tree that sprung up beside the gardening shed was swaying back and forth. Every now and then, a branch would scrape across the tin roof of the shed, but the dogs know that sound, so they continued lounging on the deck as I sat and listened.

Each bird was singing their own song, but sounded beautiful together as I saw them drink from the bird bowls in between choruses. The stillness is full of life with stories to tell, but it’s waiting for someone to sit and listen.