Being Outside More

The sparrow gang is noisy in the overgrown hedge in my back garden. The planting is a mix of a spiky Pyracantha and two variegated Euonymus, one green and white and one yellow and green, which being evergreen glows brightly even in the depths of winter. It is the final reminder of the previous residents' choices, provides a useful barrier to the road beyond and great cover for small birds. I watch them peer out from the bush, dash across to the birdfeeder, then make a series of hops and jumps into my two fruit trees. The apple is looking particularly resplendent at the moment, freshly minted leaves and delicate five petalled blossoms, white with pink tips. We’ve had a bird feeding station in the garden since the children were small, and it’s currently positioned directly opposite the kitchen window, providing hours of entertainment whilst washing up. But now it seems that even a tube of birdseed is not a simple unalloyed public good. New advice released last week by the RSPB warns ...

  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, ...