Tidy The Shed

 


It has been a difficult day, my brain moves slowly. I am not inspired. I take myself out to the garden and wait impatiently for nature to heal me, there are enough self-help books on the subject, surely that's how this works? Come on, fill me up with awe and wonder. I'm practically drumming my fingers now.
Branches in a nearby garden are flexing gracefully, welcoming the breeze. My own apple tree sits in a blaze of tulips, yellows and reds. The plum blossom is already starting to fade, brief snowy perfection last weekend, she has welcomed many bees. My thoughts spool forward and I think of summer and glossy stewed plums on my muesli, sprinkled with a hint of cinnamon and ginger. Breakfasting like a medieval lord.

A collage I made in a workshop comes to mind, a headline cut from a gardening magazine that said "Tidy The Shed". When you're stuck, just do something. So I tidy the damn shed, carefully taking out all my tools: a spade, a fork, a hoe, loppers, shears, a basket of hand tools containing various small implements but mysteriously no trowel. I sweep everything thoroughly, throw away some rubbish and carefully replace everything neatly inside. It is the world's tiniest shed, sentry box style. I built it myself from a kit a few years ago and am deeply proud of it. As a person who frequently bumps into doorframes, trips over invisible items and has trouble telling left from right, I find minor DIY successes assume greater importance. My dream would be to have a shed large enough to sit in with a cup of tea while I look out on the rain and muse. A shed of one's own.

This week I have been enjoying watching The Other Bennet Sister, finally my English Lit A-Level is paying off. I have been reading Flaneuse by Lauren Elkin, and did a little aimless walking in central Bristol this morning in tribute. The photo is not my plum tree, but is an ornamental cherry spotted on a street in my neighbourhood, I just loved that there is a bee dead centre.

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