sunday composition

First, let me say this: I do not know the folks who live here.
I was simply taken by the interplay of the colors. The small red picnic table and chairs. The white of the popsicle-stick fence. The washed-out green of the house, the lush green of the wisteria foliage, the new green of the tree. The dangling violet clusters of wisteria flowers.
Very nice, n'est-ce pas?
I had noticed this as I waited for the physicist.
At the time, I had gone to his door to find him still asleep, having risen early (2 AM!) to watch Jack Benny (!) on his cable-less television. He had intended to set an alarm for our luncheon, but had not or had slept through it or whatever. I leaned against my car, facing away from his domicile, and drafted the message "what a putz" into my phone, perhaps to send elsewhere later.
Then I took a fresh breath, looked up from my phone and across the street, and saw this collection of colors and shapes and lines, begging to be captured.
And so I did.
Then I raised my gaze to the message for me.
I was exactly where I needed to be.
If he had been ready to go, I would have missed the heart in the sky. I would have overlooked the beauty right across the street.
I would have missed all of that.

Coincidences are funny things.