I first saw it this morning when I carried my extra-large cup of green tea out onto the veranda. It was standing poker straight from the big terracotta pot, its spiky, shiny leaves in counterpoint to the golden yellow ball. Was this a piece of fruit growing in a pot? No, it seemed to be a flower, a strange and beautiful flower. I made a mental note to Google it later in the day.
It had been raining all night and had only just let up. A fragrant wisp of steam curled up from my cup, tickling my nose in the most pleasant way. A good day to be alive, I thought, just before the old weight that is actually a new weight, came to settle heavily inside me.