I keep the curry trees in neat black pots behind glass in the smallest room that gets the most sun near a window where they can watch the untamed garden riot unhindered, its earthen scalp a knot of unkempt botanical hair, clogged with the heavy syrup of July’s winter rain on the other side of the double glaze; inside I keep the house warm. We were not born to embrace chills, the trees and I, our tap roots meander through dense Kulin loam, infiltrate the sea and end in the subcontinent, intertwined with an island fringe frequented by turtles and tsunamis. In recycled heat, my trees arch their backs, unspool verdant canopies, adorn their heads in pinnacles of tiny white bloom, the aroma of their eastern disposition fills the place like goddess-breath and drops in cavernous pots that wait to be filled with the taste of shared history.
Note: Karapincha means curry tree
Suzi Mezei is a Sri Lankan born Australian writer. She is widely published and has won some writing awards. She is still working on a novella but is often distracted. She misses going to film festivals with her MIFF Buddy but is also grateful for many things.