A light wind blows and the scent of jasmine wafts into my room. I close my eyes and breathe it in, and for a moment I am transported away from my computer screen, away from Grahamstown, to the other side of the world.

I am in a secret garden, surrounded by the white blossoms. They sit like diamonds on branches of jade and emerald, yet smell like the most exquisite perfume. The scent is calming and I walk amongst the shrubs, brushing them with my fingertips and taking in the scent as though it is oxygen.

I gently pluck one strand of flowers and place it carefully behind one ear so as not to compress the delicate blossoms with the weight of my hair. I look down and find myself in a beautiful white silk dress. I twirl around in it, feeling glorious and beautiful and freed by the scent of the flowers. I cannot contain the laughter that bubbles up through my body. It flows out from me, into the garden, joining in with the sound of a river trickling past, almost unnoticed.

I am one with nature, unburdened by the problems of the real world. This, I think to myself, is my reality. The work that I have left behind in my room, the problems and the worries, are all in my mind. They are unnecessary nightmares, and they fade away one at a time with each breath that I take.

I lie down in the grass that is at my feet and close my eyes, breathing deeply and enjoying the textures around me. I softly run my hand through the soft grass and allow my fingers to lightly touch the silk of my dress. Each touch feels wonderfully fresh and new. I close my eyes and allow my senses to take over. The textures, the sounds and the scents are so calming that I begin to fall into a light sleep.

There is a knock on the front door, and I open my eyes. The scent has faded and I find myself back at my computer. I try to shut it all out again and force myself back into the garden, but the image is gone. I go to answer the door, but the person has left. I sit back at my desk for a while, mesmerised by the daydream. Eventually I get up and walk into the courtyard.

I find the jasmine shrub and sit on the ground beside it, hoping that being close to it might bring the image back. I breathe in the scent, and close my eyes, waiting to be taken away. It doesn't work. The pure scent is mingled with those of clay and wet paint. I try to breathe in deeper, and choke on the dusty air. I run my hand across the ground before me, and my finger is cut by a stray piece of broken glass.

I give up, opening my eyes again and finding myself sitting on dirty bricks with my neighbours watching me strangely. I get up awkwardly and wave at them, giving an embarrassed smile. When they have retreated into their houses, I pick a strand of the flowers and bring it back into the house with me.

I sit back down at my desk, with the flowers in a vase beside me. I resign myself to the nightmare of day-to-day life. Yet, though I know that I was never standing in a garden in a beautiful dress, surrounded by jasmine and water, I still feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I feel calmer and more ready for the day.

I glance once more at the jasmine, and begin to write.