We have a native garden out the front of the dolls house, that we are renting. A garden that is reticulated, healthy and loved by the birds and the bees. The mandatory red bottlebrush sits front along the black pole like fence. Creeping through the railings, threatening to spill onto the path. A yellow flowering native sits to the back against the house. Brushing against the window with the breeze. Both are taller than me. I duck dive and weave my way around the bushes as I come home, hoping not to get bristles over me.
I remember a friend’s husband was mowing the yard one fine sunny Sunday years ago. His eyeball accidentally brushed against a bottlebrush. He was in agony for months and wore an eye patch for a long time. I’m not a pirate and don’t think an eye patch would suit me.
There is a beautiful sweeping gum tree, that sits front and centre to the right of the garden. Festooned in fairy lights. Very pretty at night. A row of agapanthus creating a curved nook against the wall of the porch. Sporting, proud long healthy glossy green leaves. I do love an agapanthus, maybe because that is one plant I haven’t managed to decimate yet. No idea what colour they will be. I favour the purple ones, they are a dime a dozen here in Perth.
We have an abundance of birds that visit. No doubt suckling the sweet nectar from the native bushes. Small ones that flit in around and through the foliage. Warbling and tweeting to their hearts content. The larger birds prance along the fence railings, not a care in the world, though timid. They are tawny in colour. White spots decorate their backs. Proudly singing through long sharp beaks. Their shiny large brown eyes watch me. I take one step forward while they take one clawed step back.
The cats look on longingly through the screen door. Their tails sweeping the tiles, left, right, left, right. We chuckle, knowing they have buckleys chance of catching anything. If they did it would be a first. Yes, we would hang our heads in shame.
An early riser
I swear there is a bird out there that replicates my alarm. I listen to the warbling for a while and wonder at their conversation. They are very gossipy. Five thirty time to rise.
It’s a cool morning, we secretly do a happy dance if not physically, at least in mind. A hint of autumn is in the air. You know the times, the mornings and evenings are cool, though the days warm and sometimes humid. You can smell it can’t you. Makes a blissful change from mid to high steamy thirty’s. We bemoaned the fact that summer wasn’t coming. Then it did. We wished it away again after a few months. ‘Time to move on’, we say in exasperation.
Stepping outside, double locking the doors. I stand and breathe in the beginnings of what will turn into a warm day. I check the mailbox on the way out, you know just in case. Empty. Well no one knows my address so what was I expecting. I pull my hand away leaving the metal flap to bang against the limestone pillar. Glancing back towards the rusty garden bowl that sits in the middle of the garden surrounded by white pebbles. Was once filled with water, no doubt for the birds. Michael emptied it, just in case the paper is delivered into the bowl. As luck has it the paper actually gets delivered to next doors drive. Go figure!
I would have liked a surprise.
Feeling melancholy. I straighten my pink twin set. Turn my floral pencil skirt round so the zip sits neatly in the centre of my sway back. Handbag slung over my forearm. A deep breath to drink in the fresh air.
It’s a Tuesday, after a long weekend. Today’s going to be tough. I place one foot in front of the other. At the same time I pull my black wheeled case behind me heading up the street towards the train station. Shaking my head from side to side, clearing the cobwebs that fog my mind.
Another day, above ground. Now that’s something to celebrate.