My neighbour planted a wild flower meadow last year. As the season moved inperceptively on, she could not see what might transpire, saw only green, and spoke of mowing it...
My neighbour planted a wild flower meadow last year. As the season moved inperceptively on, she could not see what might transpire, saw only green, and spoke of mowing it down again to tidy uniformity, so I showed her the buds that were forming, pointed to the beauty of the quiet shepherd’s purse, a galaxy of tiny hearts setting seed already for another year, and she could see it too. And in my hut, flower by seed pod by bud, I began to plant my own wild flower meadow, one in which each and every beautiful detail could be seen and traced back to its beginnings. You see the delicate poppies first, then perhaps the shepherd’s purse, infiltrating and winding its way through. You will see nigella’s fabulous seed pod, sea holly and harebell, vetch and cornflower, all supporting one another in their stretch towards the summer sun.