When the
robin sang to me this morning from the tree with white buds I
knew for
certain I would soon be voting for him to be our national bird.
We placed
the shrubs and flowers bought today onto our new raised beds,
but did not dig
them in, and she rearranged them all, making notes, so when
planted I
know they will grow to look and smell in a vibrant expectation.
Mowing the
grass – the second time on one of the three bits of my lawn –
it was warm
enough to wear shorts and therefore also dry for the first skim
on the other
two and only three loads to carry to the compost because it wasn’t
damp whilst
the height of the cut gave no more than a neat but aesthetic trim.
Speaking of
the nation and digging-in and cuts, when the Chancellor spoke this
afternoon of
the state we are at, it was as if we had all shared the experience,
heard the
same sweet song, had the time to wait and watch for our outlooks to
grow, and
carried the load no matter how empty or full to those dark corners
where some
of us have had to, but where others - like his eyes - chose to hide.
Bloody marvellous.
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