Waiting for the train.
While working in the vegetable garden I hear a noise behind me. A sort of chattering disturbs the peace. I turn to see two male thrushes fighting on a patch of grass. They fly up in the air and land and fly up again, confronting one another, all a flutter. Hormones I suppose.
Sitting in the sun I extract a bag of Moroccan mint tea from the steaming mug in front of me. I note the bright green of the re-hydrated mint inside the mesh before discarding the bag. Verde que te quiero verde., as Garcia Lorca chorused. Green, how much I want you, green. But there again tea made with fresh mint leaves is still better than the dried stuff.
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