My daughter’s birthday means sowing far too many blooms. What better way is there to celebrate?
It is Kala’s birthday this weekend. I am hoping we will celebrate in her garden, with cake and suitable distance. She’d planned to spend it in Denmark. I sometimes feel I won’t cope if we, too, can’t go soon. I conjure the hepatica in my head, the greening of the larch, the lilac-lined cycle tracks, the swallows, the cuckoos, the wild orchids, the swooning lapwing, the sound of sea on sand.
Kala has been ill and isolated, so I’ve been doing daily drops at her door – she lives four houses away. I’d leave packages on the step, ring the bell and then move back to talk to her. Luckily, she made a good recovery a few weeks ago, though we are still very under-hugged.
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