The storm last weekend changed my To Do list: on Sunday morning I opened the door to see the terracotta-coloured broom had been cut down – two parts lay entangled on the lawn.
I had planted that broom with its coconut scent, the yellow forsythia and white spiraea as a new hedge in spring 2012 after the new caravan was towed into place November 2011. Nico, the trusted on-site DIY man had removed the gate, shrubs and old hedge, and had taken apart the old wooden caravan my friend Marianne had left me a few years earlier. When she bought that old caravan her partner, a sculptor, had trimmed the tall conifers and shaped them into four guards. I had wanted to keep these, so Nico dug them up and they’ve been attached to the new fence. You can see they’re beginning to look grey and grumpy…
Good things happened this week too – an extended Skype lunch with a good friend in Manchester. The onsite shop and snack bar has opened, so I can treat myself to the occasional saté and French fries.
I hope that you and those dear to you are keeping well and safe.
The poem is from my second collection Nothing serious, nothing dangerous, with Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2019.
Vanished the coconut scent of the bronze gorse,
forsythia, the thin red stalks of fuchsia.
Lavenders are dotted around the borders,
a white one with the old red rose that Marianne planted.
The shadows must rest in the memories of grass blades.
Does grass carry its memory from year to year?
Early evening already, the new conifer hedge catches
the sun. The single siren of an ambulance going to Bronovo.
A blackbird hides among the orange berries,
sky is greying. Vanished into the earth
my friends, enemies. Finches swing on the fat ball.