Every year I am tempted to photograph the alkanet which returns to flower in our garden. It can be an untidy plant if you are a tidy gardener, but I love the intense blue of the flowers, darker than forget-me-nots.It is cold and overcast this morning, but yesterday's newly sown seeds need to be watered. I water the dry, powdery surface of the soil, and I think that perhaps I am practising an old forgotten ritual to make it rain. The air grows heavy as though in response, but the impulse to rain passes. As I write it still hasn't rained.
I see coming towards me a woman whom I think I recognise and know quite well. She is with her children. But she looks different, blonder and her hair has an unaccustomed neatness. She is talking to the children. Is she who I think she is? Then I remember that someone told me the other day that her husband owns a hairdressing salon. The change in her appearance is explained by the association. My confidence is restored and, as we pass exchange greetings. From beneath the new chevelure emerges a smile which I can instantly relate to.
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Finally I have discovered a pleasure in gardening. I go out and discuss things with Brian - just the theory. Then I watch him dig enthusiastically with a trowel as preparation for planting a - what? I've already forgotten. I appear to have given him scope for his enthusiasm and he has removed the sense of guilt and the contemplation of my dirty finger nails. A wonderful swap.
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