Birds chatter. Parrots close by, crows far away. A tiny unseen bird, making a loud chirrup. Mud wasps buzzing to and fro, building their caves. Occasionally, a gecko barks – the sound too big for its tiny body. Flies and dragonflies click their wings as they zoom by my pen and notebook – no keyboard for me today, it would seem intrusive somehow. I clap as a crow approaches. There is a rustle of wings as it leaves. I know it will return but for now calm prevails.
A breeze rustles the trees and a pure note sounds from the wind chime hanging by the door. Once again, I am reminded that especially when I feel far away, God is here, even as the chime announces the unseen breeze.
Unsettled skies of blue and grey. A storm? Later maybe. The dampness of the earth from last nights drenching, rises with the warmth of the sun. The smell mingles with the strong sweetness of the jasmine growing back behind the fence. These two combined with another …. the neighbours washing – drying on the line, almost become too much for my nose to take in.
A stark block wall. Brown. Foreboding. But two spots of colour. Yellow and pink – planted with a hopeful heart and willing hands. Growing, flowering where I planted them. Light in a tunnel. Hope!
The star jasmine cascades over my neighbour’s wall. It, too, was once stark and foreboding. The creamy flowers contrast with the green of the foliage that is peeking over and between the fence. Bottlebrush red is beginning – maybe tomorrow it will be my turn. Maybe tomorrow the birds will burst into my yard to feast on the nectar held within those promising buds.
Shadows throw across the lawn making it seem more patchy than it is in truth. The mixture of grass, weeds and moss surround the bird bath – alone, full, waiting with anticipation. Be patient, I silently tell myself. They will return. They will find their way back to this place of safety and peace. By removing some palm trees from my yard, I have changed their environment but the birds will return. They will remember the sanctuary. It is just change, it takes time.
The previously unseen fence teases with lime green shoots peeking over and through the palings. Promises of new life and growth. The fence itself tells its story. Mismatched boards nailed together. Some old and worn, some new – all useful, all fence.
In the distance, traffic and school ground happy voices. High above, an aeroplane approaches and then fades. Someone’s going home, I think.
Closer, a gardener is mowing and blowing leaves. Loud, unpleasant, persistent! A door slams. Jarring! Voices disturb. Pungent cigarette smoke reaches over and grabs my nostrils.
Peace is over, time to go!
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