The Garden of Pansies

I hadn't planted anything yet. Besides one small pot of pansies. Beyond the edge of the patio were stairs made of flat stones wedged into the earth. When we'd first moved in, these steps weren't even visible from the house. They'd cleared out some brush and cut away an invasive vine to find what had felt like a secret garden. A bench, cast iron, still with a few flakes of white paint clinging to its seat and back was another surprise. I remembered finding it that day, going to sit on it. It was near enough the creek to enjoy the sound.