“In the heart of the city, my terrace garden is a patch of serenity, a reminder that even small spaces can hold vast beauty.” (Gertrude Jekyll)

I’m a sucker for a beautiful terrace.  The words “would you like to sit out on the terrace?” from the maître d’ a few steps ahead will always elicit an enthusiastic, “yes, please,” from my lips.  There’s something about relaxing outdoors some stories lifted from the ground that adds an artful elegance to life.  The destination remains unimportant; it’s the elevation that says you’ve arrived.

I’m almost finished designing my terrace into the cozy retreat I had envisioned.  With solar-paneled white fairy lights draped across the front ledge and my bistro set comfortably positioned, it calls to me at times throughout the day and evening, reminding me it’s time to escape from the world, if even for a moment.  And I’m not alone.  I’ve acquired the affection of the local birds who flock to it each day to consume the mixture of sunflower seeds, millet and cracked corn that is abundant in the make-shift feeders I’ve placed on the side ledges. 

They’re a friendly bunch, if not a bit elitist.  A few weeks ago, the seed I usually buy at my local supermarket was out of stock and I purchased a generic version.  My feathery connoisseurs immediately noticed the difference and instead of bobbing their beaks with the usual gusto, they reluctantly pecked at the off brand as if to say, “we’ll let this one slide, but don’t make it a habit…”  I could swear I caught a red cardinal giving me a miffed side eye.  Not all are pompous though.  There’s a plump little hermit thrush who visits often and bears an uncanny resemblance to W.C. Fields.  He’s less skittish than the rest and will openly gaze in my direction. Should I ever hear him chirp, “A man who loves whiskey and hates kids can’t be all that bad,” the apartment complex landscapers will find me the next morning, splayed out on the grass below, two floors down. 

The greatest purpose my terrace serves is that of a confidante who simply listens.  Sitting alone at night under the stars, with the quiet rustling of leaves in the background, I feel less judged, more accepted and less threatened by any apprehensions the future may hold.  The veil between the heavens and earth seems telescoped and reachable, with a direct line from my thoughts to a chamber of charitable witnesses. The cover of darkness and the open air bring forth solutions to problems with a greater ease, unencumbered by the static noise of day. It’s a sanctuary that has absorbed my secrets and dreams and keeps both, with the promise of being a good steward.