I woke up early today. The light was grey pearl outside my window as I ghosted over to the coffeepot and heated up a cup of yesterday’s coffee in the microwave. Don’t ask me why I do this. I don’t like stale coffee, but I seem to practice strange small economies, like only turning on one light and not flushing the toilet during the night. I will probably be one of those old ladies who saves everything and makes one chicken last four meals. The Hubby finds this annoying and I can’t say I blame him.

I go out on my back deck as I do every day. My town is called “Hole in the Heavens” in Hawaiian, and we haven’t had a drop of rain since January. I wish the “hole,” a geothermal backswirl on the volcano flank that keeps the clouds away, was a little less effective.

I have a glider swing out there furnished with old, sun-shot cushions inviting one to sit and enjoy the view, which is amazing. The light carves across the top of the volcano, a bold sword of new day, spilling gold across the dim blue mountain.

This is not a glamorous house, but it is a beautiful one. My deck leads down a series of chipping cinderblock steps (cinderblock being a popular building material here) to the lower yard inhabited by garden and chickens. I let the dogs out and feed the ‘girls.’ Olga, Svetlana and Nikita have obligingly laid an egg apiece, which I put in my bathrobe pocket while I water the rest of the garden. The tomatoes are going to be amazing this year and I look forward to fat beefsteaks, juicy romas and wands of grape tomatoes.

On the deck cabbage heads of blush roses wave, a bouquet atop a slender tree stem. The great terra-cotta pots of roses buzz with the weight of early-morning bees. The big black bumblebee I nicknamed Dracula actually causes the slender stems to bend and bobble. Screened on one side with lattice to provide some privacy from the rental unit, pots of variegated vines twine up and shade the little pond filled with hyacinths. I have even thrown in some blue and white vases and a verdigris bust of a maiden I found at a garage sale. She gazes blankly at me, dressed in a mantle of succulents and a stray cucumber vine.

It’s my own funky Giverny. If only I had the painting talent to capture it- words will have to suffice for now.