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  • Writer's pictureCrone

She lives with an orange tree...


I used to love this song. I loved the whole album, Damien Rice's 'O'. And, bizarrely, I think it encouraged me to do yoga and definitely made me want to live with an orange tree.


This little tree has regular scale insect infestations, but it heals when outside over the summer and then just about manages to make it through the winter. I talk to it. I say, 'Come on, let's see the undersides of your leaves... Oh! Good plant! No scales! Well done.' Or at least, that was the last thing I said to it.


Today I bought six small plants for my hanging basket. My dad says it's too early to put the basket out and I should keep the plants in the conservatory with the orange tree for a few weeks.


This winter I lost one of my geraniums, a little scented one. I cut it back too hard. I have replaced it with a different scented one. This new one is orange scented... the last was... some kind of perfume scent, floral. I don't know how they do that: breed geraniums with scented leaves. I'm glad though - even Wuji likes the smell of this one.


An orange scented yoga studio. White voile curtains moving in the breeze and worn brick walls. The floor of palest pine. Or white painted boards. An orange tree and a Buddha statue and a water feature. Maybe some very soft music. No words. Classical... pianos or guitars... or chanting... but soft, so soft. Light and air and space. And a big dusty pink divan at the back with gorgeous silk cushions in vibrant hues with silver and gold stitching and little mirrors.

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