Let me invite you into the world of my weekend. Can you…
- see the knee-high buttercups, the tall grasses and red clover with the freshly-strimmed paths through? The dark red dianthus and the magenta senetti whose flowers seem to glow on the edges of perception?
- hear the chorus of bees like formula one behind a closed door? The magpie shrieks tearing the air, and the cat purring placidly in the shade of a bush?
- smell the honey-rich white clover, the fresh-mown grass from the meadow paths, and the faint warmth of a dozen different roses? The strawberry scent of melting ice cream?
- feel the warmth of long-absent summer on bare arms? The rough wood of home-made garden furniture and the texture of self-heal under bare feet?
- taste the long, cool glass of apple and pear juice and the smoky air tainted by distant barbecues?
Welcome, and goodnight.