Landscape

Annie planned the spring dinner happily, hoping that it would go a little better than the winter one had gone; she loved packing everybody into her humble house (this time with the windows into the garden open wide and fresh flowers on the table) and cooking for hours. Every time her siblings landed (like a plague of locusts, with every dish picked clean afterwards), she did all in her power to raise the energy and lift the spirits. Annie also chose a different painting for the dining room from the ones her grandmother had left her (this one sunlight and trees and a blue, blue sky); mostly, they rolled their eyes at the rustic style and common subject matter, but she had to keep trying. "If they could just allow themselves to be swept away ... even one time," Annie whispered to herself. Stare long enough with a tiny speck of curiosity and the magic would take hold; you'd see the trees move, the grass bend, and feel a light breeze on your face; this world and its crushing mediocrity would fall away and be replaced by wonder and transformation. Her grandmother had created the landscapes with more than paint and intention, but she was forbidden to speak of it. "Wouldn't telling them be a kindness?" Annie had asked, and Grandmother had shaken her head. "No short cuts," she had said firmly. "You gotta choose to shut up long enough to see; gotta stop bitchin' long enough to be blessed." Annie heard voices in the driveway and sighed; they were already arguing.