Playing in the garden on Lughnasadh. Half way from summer to autumn. An inbetween time As every time feels at the moment. Like being in a dream. Living a life that doesn't exist anymore. Fragile. Precious. Magical. And thus we take a deep breath And keep on keeping on.
My five year old has decided that this year He wants his own plot in the garden. I am delighted at his enthusiasm And interest But also aware that our garden is small. The space is precious. I feel reluctant to give it up. Despite this sense of reluctance His plot has been selected. The [...]
Liz Postlethwaite 