Sunday Siesta

watered the plants

pulled out some pesky weeds

made room for the saplings to grow

Today I spotted a striped butterfly and two bees. They buzzed through leaves and branches, searching for flowers amidst the green. My garden ought to have more flowers — there isn’t enough nectar for the birds and bees. I clear out a pot, fill it with soil, sow some william blossom seeds. I hope they grow well. Should I plant some marigolds next? Oh, wouldn’t jasmine be lovely in the cool summer nights!

I spot some baby plants in the Bougainvillea pot; they’re cinnamon basil from a few pots alway. The garden is finally taking shape, spreading its roots and extending its limbs. The afternoon silence let’s me observe quietly, write, after a busy week.

Ma is asleep in the bedroom. There’s so much that goes on in her mind throughout the week. It must be exhausting — I know it’s exhausting. I see her growing old; it’s evident in her eyes, her face, aching limbs that have no cause nor reason to ache.

Light pours in through the large French windows. It makes its way past the green curtains, casting a glow on everything in its way. A bird chirps in the distance; is it the myna I spotted outside my bedroom window? Where have all the sparrows gone?

It’s past four now. The evening walkers are beginning to come out of their homes. The children with their bicycles and skates. Somewhere in Europe, my friend is waiting expectantly to give birth. But like everything else, the child now has a will. Will it be today or tomorrow? Is it time yet?