Busy morning at George and Bean

Blank page staring, no need to force anything. Flow, be like water. Breathe. Be.

See the bees, how they flit around George as she moves? Wiping the steamer, heating the mug and the milk, tamping down the grounds, that anticipatory sound. With sure hand she pours the one into the other.

The bees surround her like fairy helpers, as though she needs them, they’re essential to the process.

Here are Mark and Prue, puffer vests keeping them warm. Today, Orange (for a funeral), soon, Queenstown. ‘Happy Easter! Enjoy your time away!’

There’s Mr Rosie, checking on his text order. ‘Yep, just finishing it now!’ she assures. Will he come out from his car stopped across the road or is he waiting on her delivery? No, here he comes. ‘Thanks, George!’

It’s a corner transformed. From long unkempt grass to sweet small round tables and colourful chairs dotted round the revealed yard, cushions top seats for added comfort. Behind, a donated cupboard is brimming with mugs, also given.

A mature liquid amber presides in quiet confidence. The crepe myrtle’s brilliant pink cheer wanes in autumn’s turn.

The conviviality invites chatter, conversation, communication.

Jane’s dog’s let loose, comes for a pat. (A speeding semi beeped her crossing the road to get here!) She lowers herself in her friend’s battered blue hatchback, her own dog in the back too, off to the park for a walk.

What remains are the bees. They were here before, will guard the place when Georgia’s on holidays and welcome her when she returns.