This was the sad apology for a garden a year or two after I moved in here. Originally, there were flagstones and a whirly line, and nothing else. Every tub, urn and flower pot needed bags of compost laboriously carried by hand - mine. In summer the heat was unbelievable, and in winter a green slime would grow over the slabs when water was unable to escape down the spaces between them.
Over the years, the filling in these cracks disintegrated, and now at least I'm spared the slime. No, the green now comes from another source - my urban jungle! It proves how nature is prepared to accept the most meagre of habitats as long as it can sustain life.
I have posted the following verses before, but not with accompanying photos, which I think give an added je ne sais quoi to the whole subject!
The garden was totally concrete,
its chequerboard flagstones a sight
to dampen the gardening spirit,
though bathed in a warm summer light.
No flora or fauna enlivened the view,
no shade from a tree or a shrub;
not a solitary leaf, nor a stem, nor a flower
sustained an unfortunate grub,
if it dared to put in an appearance
by wriggling under the gate,
or scaling the slatted wood, vertical fence
in its unending search for a mate.
I bought a few tubs and containers,
plus some compost in colourful sacks,
all providing a small splash of colour
as they stood in their teetering stacks
awaiting the hesitant, first potting up
of the trays full of tender young shoots,
all eager (like me) in their spacious new home
to established some permanent roots.
MUCH, MUCH LATER- This has turned out to be a perfect offering for the Poetry Bus due on 6 September, even though I posted it before this week's driver had chosen the destination, as you might say! ESP rules, Okay?