The older lady in the pin-striped men's button-down, gardening under the magnolia tree. Her straw hat set aside and upturned on the freshly-clipped hedge, the flowers beyond colored in shade against the house.
The man who plants his sunflower seedlings out each summer in his tiny front garden, slowly building his driveway brick by brick, and always the half-heard radio on to the Grateful Dead hour or baseball.
The moon dissembling behind the curtains of willow.
The glimpses into high rooms at dusk ~ the lamplight on warm red walls. Fans visible turning on the ceilings, light flickerings from late-night movies.
The single dandelion puff glowing in the dark. The walled garden in cobalt and blues. The white gardens, each flower visible like a ghost.