Iced lemon tea.
It would seem that I have been inadvertently gifted with more than a couple of lemons lately, all from various sources.
Some may have been scooped out of the sea like a message of doom in a rusty old bottle; others simply fell off the tree and rolled over to my feet nonchalantly, as a cat would when it needed a good, warm rub on its belly.
But it worries me that they are just not being turned into huge pitchers of cool lemonade fast enough.
Then again, of course I do not own a modern juicer with complex multi-purpose functions that can but only serve the eclectic lifestyles of the rich and famous.
Too often have I missed out on the things that truly matter: bright yellow sunshine peeking out from behind cotton-candy clouds; technicolour rainbows forming a secret archway to the great unknown.
So much so that when the spring showers finally begin, I may no longer know which side to choose anymore.