Saturday, 7 August 2010


It's the scent that draws you closer, leads you down the winding path.

One purple chive flower has burst through the waist high stems, optimistic for founding a new colony in this old tin bath. It's the greenest patch on the Summer dried plot. The breeze ruffles through the leaves, sounds papery in the sudden shadows of evening. The leaves brush like unexpected felt through your fingers as you break stems that gasp out their perfume. Under the apple tree you make mint tea.

We sip through the twilight. Watch the plants turn to dark silhouettes.