Reborn 'steam' of consciousness

The dwarfed apricot tree is too large to call a bonsai, nevertheless it is always the first to bear leaves. Bright green young leaves shiny with the promise of the rapidly approaching summer.

Spring doesn't last long in these parts; in the batting of an eyelid it's summer (within a week of the first snow in 11 years, I was wearing shorts).

This morning I'm sitting shirtless on a rickety old wicker couch outside the backdoor. Although we had heavy black frost this winter, the first banana tree is sending up a green tightly bound green spear into the heavens. I'm wondering how many of the banana plants have survived. They grow well here in the summer, but I'm about 10 kilometres away from where they would be ecstatic, even in winter.

From where I'm sitting I see my first bumble bee of the spring, they are anyway rare here. Bees are a good omen for me. Then it’s gone from sight.

I've been travelling, mostly under pressure with work, for the last three weeks. I need to savour my solitude or else I will not regain my centeredness. That's why I'm about to switch off my phone and write a letter to God.

A black and sturdy 4x4 soldier ant beach buggy's over my bare knee.

Birdsong; water and air scratching through the hose pipe; the gurgle and tumble of the washing machine in the laundry room; the old lady next door throwing stones into her plastic garden bucket as she colonises the veldt behind her house and mine (will she make it to the mountain before she dies?); catchy pop music from the distance, just other side of the abyss.

It's back: The bright yellow and black zebra stripes of the bumble bee ecstatically hovering against mauve French lavender; so next season. (I'm glad I won't be slavering on the edge of any catwalk... been there, done that, and died.)

But I’m reborn....