There is a cotton skin between me and the weather. Inside I can hear the percussion of rain, but feel dry. I am less separated from nature, yet swipe at the sides of the tent. I coax a wasp out into brief sunshine, return to my canvas indoors. Spider, beetle, hover fly take cover in my beloved summer palace.
Blackberries need enough rain to swell the berries, and enough sun to sweeten them. This wet sometimes sunny August grows an irresistable prize to pluck from a hedge row. The sharp sweet tang of vitamin C spreads on my tongue.
I’m wearing a large pink wide-brimmed sun hat. It’s a beautiful warm day. The scent of lavender reaches me before my feet pass. I inhale, sucking up the memories of bottom drawers, lying in a relaxing bath, rubbing my tense temples. It smells warm, purple, summer and my breath deepens. I am surrounded by the buzz of frantic searching, fast moving wings. Among the perfume soaked flowers are dozens of African bees. Slender, argumentative, resilient bees. One slow lone bumble bee pootles to stem after stem of lavender. I sense my childhood summers disappear, an uncertain future looms ahead. This single bumble bee feels like a portent of future diminishing returns.