(In the) Sunshine City Vibes
When the power cuts, no matter, make a little life by the fire.
Collect the plants that call out to you for what The Jazz calls “cheap thrills” (and here, my, my, they really are cheap. Can I smuggle them back under my dress and say they are my babies? They are!)
We arrange them, grab some bricks as props. Suddenly, we are a whole choir, the plants, the bros and Caits, cooking with tunes under the moon.
See the bass, Tanaka says? And I do, I do.
(Don’t worry about personifying vegetation as human, the plants once told me in my mind, whatever helps you see us. We don’t care! Just look, and look with care.)
The greens come from the back garden, fresh. Amai’s cooking is out of this world! You could open a restaurant in New York City, I tell her and she waves me away, but I’m serious. That meat is succulent.
I draw Tanaka, even though I am out of practice and make him look like the Black Jesus paintings that once upon a time adorned the walls of Mbuya’s dining room (some so brutal, the tale goes, that they turned the children off dinner). Whoops. No matter, everyone is kind about the lack of resemblance and praise my line work instead. Thanks, bros.
Get lost in a Jacaranda dream — someone’s anyway, the trees imported from Brazil one day long ago now sprinkle everything with a little magic violet dust. The road seems to last and last, and how wonderfully disorienting to ride in the driver’s seat. I will take any chance to look from another perspective, even when turning corners: jump, heart, jump!
Touch the backyard flora. Give them a photo shoot, tell them they are stunners. Someone sees me through the eyes of love, too, and there is hard evidence that makes me feel soft and smile.
Luck out when you some locate eyes at the art shop to make new friends (I forgot mine at home, how could I? A cause for momentary panic.)
It doesn’t take much to live a beautiful life. The world is full of color. Train your tired eyes on what glows and gleams in the setting sun. It won’t let you down.