There are many pests one might expect to meet in an English garden. This is not one of them!
Nor would I want this as an ornament in the garden - it would frighten R.
This is a story of rabbits and squirrels,
docks and nettles and creeping thistles,
stakes that sprout and floods and drought,
springs that spring - none one of my favourite things.
There are ditches that clog, turn grass into bog,
snails and slugs, 'pillars and bugs -
This is not what gardening's for,
this is a story of unending war,
with that which eats the fruit and veg,
it sometimes pushes me near to the edge -
until I discover a scented sweet pea, eat a plum ripe from the tree,
dump a pumpkin into the barrow, an enormous courgette (a monster marrow),
savour asparagus cut in May, just spend a day
sitting in birdsong after the mowing,
listening to water tumbling and flowing
down to the pond. I am losing the war
but, you know, here in the sun I don't care anymore.
This last image of the banking and the Wendy House by the pond shows the wonderful work done by M the strimmer.
Unfortunately the stronger wild grasses have grown a foot in the two weeks or so since this was done and I will have to nip out now with the mower (still have not got my hover mower) and try to not let it get out of hand again. (Of course it will.)
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