Sitting in my secret garden, far from the madding crowd, I'm surrounded by the miracle of life: my spinach seedlings are doing well; two sturdy pea shoots have pushed through the loam this very morning; and at least 20 bright-with-life-green butter lettuce seedlings have graced my presence for at least two days now.
Faced with a pressured and enormously busy month ahead, I'm aware of tight shoulders and anxiety bubbling away in the pit of my gut, despite the anxiety medication I've been taking as part of my regimen since my nervous breakdown in July last year. That's why I'm taking out precious time to centre myself, to ease the sense of drowning, the clutching at my throat.
I've turned to my morning pages to offload, to interrogate my life, and to pray for peace.
I've lit a stick of citronella incense: I'm watching the smokey tendrils weave between the seedlings and plants, backlit by the golden morning sunshine. All the while I can hear the ocean beckoning: soon I'll stroll over to it for a cleansing and invigorating swim.
I have a lot to do before leaving for Cape Town on 30 June; yes, I've got my job and will be beginning a new life at the southern tip of Africa from 1 July. I am ecstatic.