little and large
On a sunny Saturday morning the front door is wide open, birdsong, breeze and buzzy-things float in and out. I hear footsteps on the gravel drive, the garden gate open and close then a cautious voice calls out:
At the door a petite, dapper, elderly anglo-saxon lady and a tall stout lady of colour are soaking up the ambience of my garden. The elderly lady, Barbara, smiles and announces
I didn’t know this was here, its lovely, its a hidden garden
I smile and lean against the door frame, considering the ladies semi-formal dress and wondering who they are and why they are here
Barbara: don’t you find that people have very little faith these days?
Wendy: I have faith
Barbara reaches into her big, old-person’s handbag and pulls out a copy of Watchtower. Ah, Jehovah’s witnesses spreading the word and recruiting. The aptly named Gloria stands behind Barbara, her substantial, boxer-like, stature makes her visible both above and around Barbara. Barbara nervously explains how informative and useful the ‘Awake’ pamphlet, within watchtower, is. It has information about prescription drug addicition and about woolly mammoths. She flicks through the pamphet showing me the pictures while trying not to drop the pamphlet or her handbag. I smile.
Barbara: would you like one?
Wendy: I have faith, but if you want to give me one of those I will look at it
Barbara looks surprised, hands me the Watchtower, glances around my garden
Barbara: it’s very nice here
Wendy: yes, especially the nieghbours, the lady who lives in that house was born in it, when she got married her husband moved into the house with her and they both looked after her elderly parents. Isn’t that awesome?! I love it here.
Barbara: can we come back and call again?
Wendy: yeah, sure, have a nice day…