story 2.3

The daisy patch grew underneath the denuded plum tree. The tree was bereft of leaves and plums and blossoms, and it was magnificent with twigs and branches. This meant sunshine easily found the daisy patch and warmed it up.

Atilla crouched down and inspected the flowers. He racked his memory to remember what the best daisies look like. He remembered that daisies in the golden heat of summer were pink-tipped, white petalled, and yellow centered. These winter daisies were all white petalled and yellow centered, and short stalked.

Would Mother like such pitiful looking ones?

"Hey, kid-"

Atilla looked up from his reverie.

"Yo," he said.
"You're in Auckland," he informed the hovering saucer-shape, "Did you forget to turn left at Alberqueque?"

"I'm good," said Cat1. "I was just in the neighbourhood."

"Oh, okay."

There was a lull in the dialogue.

There was a prolonged lull in the dialogue.

Atilla squinted. "Was there anything else?"

"I was just wondering what you were up to," said Cat1. "Was your mum's mail all right?"

"Yes, it was all right. She did say that I oughtn't talk to strangers. We haven't been introduced," he reminded his associate.

"Yes," agreed Cat1. "I'm Cat1. Hello."

"Hello," replied Atilla, "I'm Atilla."

"Hello Atilla. What are you doing?"

"Hello Cat1. I'm inspecting my garden."

Cat1 brought up the visuals of the garden. He looked carefully at each creeping vine, each lichened branch and twig, each leaf straining for the sunshine, each insect zipping in the weak warm sunlight, each bird evading Atilla's notice, the cat patiently waiting at the other side of the fence, each pink manuka flower blooming with radiance.

The dominating aspect was the large yellow grapefruits ripening on the tree, and the swelling orange-coloured tangelos ready to burst on their tree.

"It's a good garden," Cat1 congratulated his host."

"Thanks."