A soothing blue cumulus of cranesbill clusters beneath laurel, the petals grey veined, stretching for sky under a leaf green canopy. Pecking flowers clamber up tangled with a sweet clingy weed, you know the one, with sticky burrs later in the year. There’s an empty bed with last year’s faded, crumbling woodchips; the scent lingers still. Look again, the bed is not so empty—a crumpled weed control membrane lurks partly hidden by compost, held down by terracotta bricks butted up to decking. Silverly shining, a meshed pit shows off yellow ragwort; a flower growing in the wrong place addresses the buzz and clatter of a chainsaw in the park.
Polly Stretton © 2021