Monday Morning...

l was having a good unbroken sleep, until l heard a bee with a nasal problem at my window.
l knew what it was.
THE MONDAY MORNING GARDENER.
l rolled back over and went to sleep.

Next l know lm holding a damful of water l thought would overflow if l didnt get out of bed soon.

with eyes closed l did my best to get this semi elderly lady to at least sitting position, and able to hold the overflow.

my joints felt like a truck had hit them during the night, and slowly, ever so slowly talked them into working.

my face felt like grease proof paper, and had to be wiped or else my hand would have slid off it.

time to stand.
my feet cursed me.
my legs and hips ducked for verbal cover, each doing their best to stand on the complaining feet.

ln their delicate condition they made the unbalanced way to the bathroom.
eyes still closed, and feeling my way, l made it just before the flow had a mind of its own.
sat quickly, very quickly, and let the gush go free.
ahh..

now l opened my eyes...
someone had glued them shut...
l sat there until l focused.

stood up with aching truck hit back, balanced on old and tired feet,
l could feel all of my bones trying to adjust to standing position,
and made my way to the kitchen to make a brew of that black drink we call coffee.

while waiting l looked at the clock...half eleven am.
l had to be across the city before half three pm.

the coffee machine groaned and trickled and groaned some more.
my machine sounds constipated....groan,push,drips,groan....

eventually the black stuff was ready.
my hands not quite awake yet, had to concentrate on the pouring into the my cup.

made my way to the computer with cup in hand while concentrating on not dropping it with my hands that have trouble gripping now a days, and sat here and drank it...

GOOD MORNING....

PAVED PARADISE.

Box Hill in Melbourne Australia,1957, was the year my family moved into the suburb.

We were the only house for a mile or so, and all around us was open land.

Our main road was one road. and gravel.

Our street was dirt, with pot holes.

The milkman and his horse would come past at 3am every morning, and you would hear the bottles rattling, and hooves of the horse.

There were so many gumtrees,you could hear them swaying in the wind, long grass also.

A creek not far away, we could hear the water trickling.

Horses in paddocks without a chain.

Yabbies in little natural pools.
Tadpoles, Frogs.


.......................
Now its all built up.

A concrete jungle.