The pot plant sits quietly on the kitchen bench. It’s a cactus, chosen because it is more likely to survive my “care”. It looks like an otherworldly observer. It bears witness to the fresh early light, coffee grounds spilling from the aeropress and me humming cheerfully while fighting with rebellious bits of egg shell in the frying pan. But this cactus also witnesses things which I do not want documented; bench clutter, unwashed dishes, the midnight microwave whirr for insomnia popcorn, the bored opening and closing of the fridge, a frustrated tirade and hot tears. But it doesn’t judge. It’s just there, a silent witness.

My iPhone feels more judgy. I think it knows me better than anyone. It witnesses my slide into anxiety or restless boredom, as I search for a distraction. It witnesses how many beautiful moments I’ve experienced and photographed, yet never returned to dwell on with thankfulness. It witnesses who I reply to. It also witnesses who I complain about and delay replying to. Please don’t put it on the witness list!

I am listening 

to the laughing kookaburras up the tree

to the wind blowing down the chimney 

to the piano which is out of tune 

to the possum crawling in the roof 

to the bubbling of slow cooked beef stew 

to the swaying clothes on the line 

to my client who’s having a hard time 

to the chicken scratching a place to sleep 

to my loose fan belt starting to screech