Ever-present

She headed into the garden when the sun came out; it was cool and damp and green. She chirped to the birds and hummed to the breezes, letting herself feel fuzzy around the edges and distracted by beauty. "Well, it's all right for some to do and do some more," she whispered to the lilac tree while putting peels and grounds into the net pocket at its base, "for the doing is never done. As for me, I grow weary of lists and branding every idle moment as lazy and the ruin of days to come." She toddled over to the trellis and took great care to place a couple of tiny vines upon it (on their way to great heights). "I am no fan of the future," she said comfortingly to the lavender and the wild blackberry bush that was dreaming of being a thicket one day, "preferring - as I do and as I've told you - the ever-present and, some day, the everlasting." She had chosen this way of being long before the war and losses innumerable. Now, having cleared a fair bit of rubble from what used to be the courtyard, she was content to rest with the roses and weep with the willow.