The morning was bright and domestic. Aiden ran to the grocery store, and then we took Blithe outside through the Witch’s room. We sat at the little table and had coffee and yogurt with blueberries. We asked Blithe what he needed. For a while he said nothing, just looked toward the train tracks.

After the monotony of the desert, the yard vibrated with greens and growth and tiny creatures. It had changed from the depressing plot I’d found when I first moved in. The landlord had razed the yard when renovating the building, and the former tenants had done nothing aside from adding plastic lawn furniture. I’d complained about this to Minna, who brought over her FBS Agriculture colleague, who planted vines and a young cherry blossom tree.

“You know,” she’d said, “it’s all well and good to have a pretty backyard, but if you clean your consciousness, the tiniest cell (as in where a monk sleeps) can become the most expansive field.”

I nodded and then dismissed her on the basis that such wisdom was only applicable to someone who had the luxury of time, organic produce, beauty, stability, and a legit mentor. I bought a woven hammock and set it up against the death-gray back wall. Eventually, invasive weeds began to grow. A few stalks of wildflowers emerged, and one day a monarch appeared and I was a girl again, running through a butterfly garden.

I would never regret those delights, even the feeling of a cotton dress against my young legs.

Aiden went inside to get his selfie equipment, and I headed to the cherry blossom tree for my morning meditation. I set my phone timer for ten minutes and closed my eyes.

I could hear the branches moving and the rustle of little birds hopping around on the ground.

Beep, beep, beep.

I set Alice on the table so that a tendril could witness Aiden’s butt crack as he leaned over to adjust his phone.

I sat down at the table, and Blithe said, “Sushi.”

“Sushi? You want sushi?”

“Sushi.”

Aiden came over.

“He wants sushi.”

“Shit, we never got him any at the airport, did we? I’ll order some,” Aiden said.

He went inside to get his computer and order, even though it was hardly the appropriate American hour for rice, seaweed, and fish. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, setting off the dachshund on the third floor. Aiden returned with a brown paper bag and placed a few trays on the table.

“Sushi,” Blithe said. He wouldn’t touch the food.

We tried not to take it personally.

“Maybe we’re interpreting him too literally.”

“Sushi,” Blithe said, with a little more enthusiasm.