The days around the Solstice lead to long, peaceful evenings. We spend them deep in the back garden, watching the bats come out at twilight. The space has been carved out of the gridded garden beds by angling the ends of two, which creates a diamond of grass big enough to hold two chairs, the chiminea, and a small table (once a bird cage stand) that can be pushed into the ground for added stability. Last year, we placed an arching trellis between two beds and planted a jasmine vine on one end and the cucumbers on the other. A string of solar powered lights, shaped like bees, clicks on at dusk and glows for hours into the night. The artichokes, now eight feet tall, at least, block the space from the back alley; the asparagus ferns and borage volunteers keep the kitchen light from shining in our eyes. We sink into our chairs before the daylight fades, tea and books in hand, and read until we can no longer see. Then we sink back, pat the cat, and watch the night arrive.
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