vaneramos | Morning in the garden

Something wakes me earlier than usual: maybe sparrows shrieking in the window gap beside the air conditioner, or the squeal of garbage truck brakes, reminding me there's still time to take down the trash. Rolling over I glimpse radiance beyond the curtain. It's 7:30, just like old times

I was never a morning person, but always got up early. On pleasant summer mornings, even work days, I liked to go into the garden when dew still bejewelled the pea leaves, and commune with the earth.

At the golden oak desk while I'm writing, sunlight tickles my fingers. Soft air and Saturday morning sound slips through the open window, beckoning.

My foot is much better today. The discolouration has faded from grayish-lilac to tan, and the pain is gone. After breakfast I slip on my boots without discomfort, and drive to the garden.

All the herbs I bought at Richter's last Monday and contributed to the communal garden seem to be taking fine: rosemary, orris root, golden lemon thyme, woolly thyme, winter savory, Greek oregano, angelica, madder, and garden sorrel. The tomatoes in my own plot have hardened, but something has nipped off the purple pepper. The spinach Marian seeded last Saturday is already showing.

A small dappled cat always visits from the nearest house, behind the row of fragrant lilacs. Her name is Cinnamon and she wears a purple heart. She demands a greeting, then lies in the shade on the picnic table nearby while I work. I unlock the communal shed and enter the quiet gloom, looking around at rows of tools, symbols of shared pleasure and industry.

Someone has excavated a lode of compost in one of four unruly compost bins, and a truckload of straw bales has been stacked beside the shed. I feed and mulch my plot, removing more bindweed shoots as I go.

Afterwards I gather a handful of herb leaves to take home for tea: peppermint, bergamot and anise-hyssop. I say farewell to Cinnamon, then climb in the car sweaty and happy. I have been transported back to memories in which I felt most most at peace in my skin and in solitude.

It's okay to put my foot up for the rest of the day and watch the sun drift past. I'm sitting here sipping fresh herbal tea. It tastes peppery and alive.