Returning to the plot after a two-week isolation, it’s hard to tell who has missed who the most
My first morning out of quarantine. The end of 2020’s second long absence from the plot. But this time it is deep autumn. I am at the allotment gate at 6.30am. The mornings were lighter when I was last here. It is still dark, mid-October before the clocks fall back. But I cannot wait any longer. I have been like a dog at the door, desperate for release.
There is an occasional pre-dawn chorus. The ground is wet and slippery. I use the torch from my phone. A first, I think. Raggedy cardoons leer at me on the path. I spot a cat’s eyes. It all feels a little unfamiliar. Until I turn the corner and catch the plot’s harlequin sunflower skeletons in the beam. Home.
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