Picture this.

Hello my lovely friends, and hello to all the beautiful strangers passing through!

Guess what! I still got me nose. No insect didn’t nyam…eat…it like me mother say did happen to the pretty lady in she village, after the pretty lady sniff the perfume-roses then insects eat it.

Even better news, no spider ain’t crawl up and build a nest in me brain after I sniff the thyme-flowers where the translucent spider been crawling.

Just in case y’all does wonder where I does get these Amazing Ideas from, lemme tell you loud and clear:

I GOT A CARIBBEAN MOTHER!

Caribbean mothers is a pack o’ different Females. It ain’t matter which part of the world they ancestors did come from originally, Caribbean mothers…more specifically West Indies mothers…see Fear of Things To Come with more colour, vigour, décor an’ detail than all the best writers of the world combine-together.

A Caribbean woman can be normal-normal, doing the things she and she friends enjoy. Around she friends, she is a regular hibicus. Ha! Soon as she sprout out that-there little bud, watch she transform. With she child, she is gardener, hoe, pitchfork, rake and spray. She jump the bed and become policeman and secret service. With time, she become warner walking with a scroll that she spool-out and proclaim bad tidings from. Lord help you if what she predict come true. Then she is jury, judge, and if you unlucky, executioner..

That, me dear, to cut a long story short, is why I got a’ imagination bigger than the belly of the whale that swallow Jonah.

With this imagination, I been gadding about in this foreign place, looking at things, seeing characters and creatures for a children’s story I done write but plan to elaborate.

I also examine pretty things, enjoying them only for what them is…pretty things. Lemme share some with you. Enjoy and see you soon. Love, neena.

“Angel wings jasmine” I’ve been told they’re called.

Angel wings on an old sundial.

I don’t know the name.

Peace lilies.

Fascinated by the brave little plant on the pavement.

Imagine calling this weed and trying to kill it.

A tart fruit that I love…jamoon.

Refreshing my spirit.

Get thee outdoors, they say.

Hello my lovely friends and all strangers passing through!

Sunday morning in this foreign land where my mother dwelling, I decide to trips outside to the front door ESPECIALLY because it grey out there. Who don't love grey? It full o' promise o' rain and thundah and lightning. Drama.

The morning been silent like the whole world still sleeping. Except for one scrawny thrush.

S/he been so joy-full, s/he singing like s/he is the entire band. Like a rock star, s/he leap an' jump. 

On to somebody car top s/he hop

S/he drop a load

Plop

White and wet

Then away s/he fly.

Oh my.

I was really glad it wasn't me. I was double-glad it wasn't me staring up in awe in the trees with me mouth open wide and she drop something then.

Can you imagine?!

Anway, I examine flowers, pull weeds and examine the flowers now turning to seed on the old fat-thyme. I pluck the seeds and flowers off the stalk and hold them in the palm of me hand. Mmmm. It smell heavenly...

...careful, missy, remember the lady you' mother did tell you about, the lady who sniff flowers and a bug eat out she nose?

Is okay, man, is okay, I ain't push me nose right into me hand.

I head back indoors and forget me dilemma. "Here, Ma, check out how this smell so nice."

I decide now to take a pickcha and 

WHAT THE HELL LOOK SOMETHING MOVING LEMME FILM IT TO MAKE SURE IT AIN'T NOTHING OH ME GAWD LOOK IT MOVING IS A SPIDER A THIN PALE ALMOST INVISIBLE SPIDER.

I run into the bathroom throw 'way the pile in the bin and now I praying me and me mother gon still have we noses.

I lie down to contemplate we fate, we future.

The rain splatta pon the window, sky bang the wind, but that ain't nothing compared to the drama in me head.

That was Sunday. So far, we still got we noses.

How y'all doing?