Monday, May 28, 2012
moss nails grass
Moss on top of a wall.
Outside a beauty clinic a girl holds up her hands and appears to be waving. Is she praying? Or begging? A faint smile perhaps of embarrassment floats by her lips. Then I notice her finger nails. They are bright yellow. She is drying them after they have been lacquered.
Outside the terraced house of Pat the dentist, the verge has grown. I stop to admire buttercups and daisies, dandelions and alkanite, not usually in evidence among the close cropped grass. |Along comes Pat on his mobility scooter. I recall that this year he celebrates his 100th birthday. "It's about time they cut the grass," he says.