A Room with a View (right)

I could use lots of obscure adjectives to describe the view out the patio doors to my right -- verdant-as it is very green, sylvan-in honor of all the trees -- or I could just label it wooded, but that's a bit dull considering the way I feel about it. I think I'll choose beatific. I was pretty sure it fit, but looked it up just to be on the safe side. Sure enough, it means producing exalted joy or blessedness. There's just something special about sunshine falling on a patch of green -- especially when it's your very own patch of green -- that tends to be uplifting.

Because our lot is sloping, this side of the room looks into the treetops that cover the distance from the house to the river. Only when the water is muddy from fresh rain can I distinguish it through the thick leaves. I'm told the winter landscape is quite different. Once the leaves are gone, I suppose I'll need new adjectives, but I admit I'm looking forward to it with some anticipation.

Since I'm flat on my back most of the day, I look out on the balcony and amuse myself by imagining what I might see below. Chipmunks for certain, since I hear they've burrowed holes throughout the flowerbeds. I mentioned to Jason that there were certain things that would deter the little striped rats from taking up residence in our yard, but he's not interested. After more than a decade trapped in city dwellings, I think he enjoys all the little lives that teem outside -- the obligatory chipmunks, rabbits and frogs as well as a huge raccoon that politely uses the walkway to travel through our front yard rather than treading on the grass. Jason's even grown fond of a giant skink that has taken up residence in our garage. After rescuing the jumbo creepy crawly from a sticky mouse trap put out by the pest control man, he washed off the sticky goop, released the critter (which quickly skittered behind a cabinet in the garage), and immediately threw away all the remaining traps citing the fact that they hadn't caught any mice anyway. I chose not to mention that the traps had only been placed a few hours earlier. It suddenly seemed like a harsh way for anything, even unpleasant looking things, to meet their end. So now there is an occasional skink sighting heralded by a blood-curdling scream from my mother-in-law. I feel bad for her, but it does add a bit of excitement to the day.

It isn't all imaginary, as there is a quite healthy looking vine growing over one side of my balcony. Since the day we moved in, I've convinced myself it was on the verge of blooming. I could almost smell the heady scent of jasmine blossoms as I waited. More than 2 months have passed now, and I'm convinced that one of the following must be a true statement:

1) It is an early blooming jasmine, and I missed this season's blossoms.
2) It is a very late blooming jasmine, and I just need to be patient.
3) It is a weed.

While I believe choice number three is the most likely candidate, I still hold out hope for choices 1 or 2. And I'm not the only one. At least three days out of every week, I am visited by either a sorely misguided or deeply optimistic hummingbird. At first he was primarily interested in examining the same vine I've been fixated on these past few weeks. Gradually, he began to spare a glance my way. Today, the whole of his visit was devoted to peeking through the glass doors at me. I knew I had a room with a view, but up to now believed I was the one doing the viewing. If the skink shows up with a squirrel in tow, you will not hear about it from me. A padded room wouldn't suit me nearly so well as this one.