
It is Wednesday 19th February 10:35 am
Right now I am nestled in the corner of the cane lounge, my legs out stretched. Notebook on my lap, pen in hand and coffee sitting on the table to my left. Cohen and Isaac are playing with some plastic cows in the pot of basil and parsley, releasing the smell of aniseed as they disturb the leaves. Sam is running around on the grass, in circles, trying to catch the butterfly bush that has overgrown and dangling above his head and tickle his forehead.
The wind chimes are making a soft tinkling sound, getting louder as the wind picks up. The clouds in the north look heavy; hopefully the forecast rain will eventuate. A thunderstorm would be great, a little free entertainment.
My attention is drawn to the truck rattling past; there can be no way he was doing the 50km speed limit. The next door neighbour is conducting an unnecessarily loud mobile phone call just over the fence and there seems to be an almost constant comings and goings from the house across the road.
I can start to feel the frustrations build. Why do we live on the heavy vehicle detour route? I’m so tired of having to listen to the neighbours who insist on airing all their personal grievances for the world to hear. I wish we didn’t live in this part of town. Out of town would be quieter, on the coast would be better. Anywhere else!
“It’s raining Mummy!” I look out to see the boys running around the poor struggling jacaranda sapling. Their arms are out stretched, trying to catch the drops. As it gets heavier they come under the cover of the veranda. We all sit together on the grey temporarily covered in a floral sheet, second hand cane lounge. Amazingly all three of them are still for a few moments as the watch the rainfall; the street is quiet as everyone has gone inside to escape the downfall.
I take a deep breath and remember to be grateful, for where we live, a roof over our heads and a safe place for our children. Remember to be grateful for the rain, the sound of wind chimes and the smell of basil.
Wow I felt like I was sitting on the verandah with you, you have described everything beautifully...
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful writer you are. I was totally there with you. And yes, basil is amazing
ReplyDeleteA beautiful narrative! Thank you for sharing!
ReplyDeleteLovely post and blog page! xx
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Annette.
ReplyDeleteThank you for popping by Sarah.
ReplyDeleteThanks Carla.
ReplyDeleteThanks Jude, your always welcome to join us. xx
ReplyDeleteOh I so get you, when the little niggles pop up - the trucks, the neighbours, wanting to be somewhere else. But being grateful all the same. Lovely post!
ReplyDeleteJacqui (dusty country road)