Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire: While others take this cue to get busy in the garden, I’ve made it my ritual to take a pause first
At the beginning of the first lockdown, I bought a hammock. It just about fits in my paved backyard between the raised beds, below the washing line. I can lie in it and look up at the sky, telephone wires chopping the blue into splinters, laundry flapping over my head. The first warm-enough day of the year, when I can finally lie back and take my swaying place among the plants again, is long-awaited. And here it is, at last.
All around me are beginnings. The roses have new red fingers. Bleeding hearts raise their hands from the still-cold soil between the purple crocuses. Most gardeners would be eager to get started, but instead of greeting spring with busyness, I have made it my ritual to do the opposite. I lie still and listen first, before even thinking about work. It feels right, respectful. Here is a chance to hear the news – the world’s, the garden’s, my own.
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