Sometimes you’re just pickin’ tired, and the days are wearing you down, not because there’s a thing wrong with them but because sometimes that’s what days do.

You want to want to, but right now you don’t.

You just want to sit a while.

Your eyes slow, and you think about the elderly lady you wish lived down the block in the little cottage on the double lot. Her hair looks like bird fluff, and she always takes time to wave down the street to you and the kids, and she invites you over to the fence for blooms.

She’s never too busy to talk with you about her garden, overgrown with hollyhocks and lilacs. Never too busy to listen to stories of your days.

This day, before you know it you’re telling about the kids and how proud you are of the young people they’re becoming, and all their activities and the spilt tea and the part-time work and all the forms, and then you’re crying and apologizing because there’s nothing wrong. You love this life, you’re just tired.

Her eyes warm tenderly — she knows — and she opens the gate and invites you in.

She motions with her speckled hand, “Sweetie, pull up a chair.”

So you do.

And soon your shoulders drop and the tears slow, and you are sitting under your favorite weeping cherry, drinking a cool glass of water with lemon while she cuts blooms for you to arrange in vases on the front porch.

Nothing’s changed. You just pulled up a chair.

And sat with grace a while.

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