Write a post entirely in the present tense.

If there is something in the past tense, you can tell me because this is not easy, but I do not guarantee that I will change it.

A wonder happens before my eyes. I do not believe in wonders, I believe what I see, and I see it before my eyes. Outside in the garden in front of my window a borage plant is growing. The seed survives the winter days and grows. Winter days are not here, it is too warm. We have no snow, no freezing temperatures, there is nothing to stop the development of this borage flower that is growing throughout the Winter. There are no living insects, they are sleeping in the undergrowth but perhaps they are not sleeping and are observing the developments in the garden.

“Where are you going” asks Mr. Swiss

“I want my camera. I am taking a photo of a living thing.”

“You are taking a photo of me?”

“No, I have enough photos of you. I have a photo of you whilst you were at the computer this morning.”

“Is it on you blog? you are marking it private.?”

“No problem, a photo of you is not important enough showing on my blog, today of all days. I am writing about what is happening now at this moment in my garden.”

“You are writing that it is raining?”

“No, no-one interests the rain. I am writing about my borage plant that is flowering today on 2nd January, 2016. A Wonder in the AngloSwiss garden No. 3, never seen before.”

I take my mobile phone for the photo. It is quicker to upload and I am working fast before the rain turns to snow and my borage plant freezes. Temperature is 5,8°C, no chance of a sudden temperature fall. Hello borage and flower until it is Spring.

“Who are you calling on your phone.”

“The newspaper of course. My borage plant is unique. It blossoms in the middle of Winter.”

“But I see in the neighbour’s garden there is a flowering rose.”

I open my garden shed door and I remove the hedge cutters. I look in all directions and I see the closed blinds in the neighour’s appartment. I walk into the neighbour’s garden and take the hedge cutters in my hand. There is a scream and a dead rose is laying on the ground. There is no longer a flowering rose in the neighbour’s garden.  I hate rivals and now my borage is famous throughout the area, with no rivals.

“You are cutting the neighbour’s rose.”

“No rivals in this world, my borage is the only survivor now and forever, at least until Spring.”

Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now – A Wonder in the House No. 3 Garden