the basil is wilting

the house is still quiet this morning, its early, even the dog is still asleep. she is curled up around my cobalt-blue gum boots. (the ones that i wear in the garden and were purchased in wobolunzi-town. the ones i intend to take back to the usa in a few months as a functional reminder.)

i managed to make coffee and consume the entire pot without waking a soul. except for my own, that is, jolted out of its peaceful slumber and launched into a thursday that i wish was a friday. or better yet a public holiday. perhaps i’ve awakened her too quickly or too much for just another mundane not quite end of the week-day.

looking out the window and listening to the pictures my waking synapses are firing, everything else stops and i think, “the basil is wilting. she needs water. and so do i.”

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