A basketful of gardening gloves.The carrots which I planted earlier in the Summer have been more successful than usual; but, because of the varied rainfall, and scarcity of rain earlier in the year, the roots, in pursuit of water, have adopted curious postures and sometimes developed multiple forks leading me to think that perhaps a new type of sculpture has evolved. Regardless of their appearance the vegetable are crisp and sweet, sweeter than the uniform and monotonous supermarket carrots.
The vegetable garden once belonged to the man who owns the neighbouring house. He was a music historian of some distinction. He is 103. This morning I talk to the gardener who is cutting back his wilderness of a garden and making a bonfire. I ask after Roy, for that his name. Any vegetable to spare for him? I gladly hand across the fence a bag of beans, tomatoes, various leaves and potatoes, and a couple of sunflowers. He is not in any sense a poor man, but will appreciate the fresh produce and the thought.
1 comment:
I do like those gloves, how they're the same colour as the basket. There's something about gloves that they seem to have a life of their own, I suppose because hands are so important to us.
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