There's a blackberry patch just past the fern patch and that's where I'll be. A violet snowdrop and cherry-red olive orchard, the sodden wood fence keeping the burnt orange mulch and peppery spirits of dead people entombed forever, charcoal colored dirt and sweet, untouched veranda, a black-metal porch swing and caustic fire ants, the majestic beds look like expansive moon bases dotted all over the inquisitive globe, the effervescent array of lemon and lime soda, slow-walking zombie-like banana box spiders and green grow the lilacs.