allotment wears a white coat

February 11, 2012

Not a visit I’ve been looking forward to and, consequently made with trepidation, but I needed to see if the potatoes set for chitting in the shed needed covering with fleece. The temperature in the sheds here high on West Hill can drop way below freezing.  First glimpse on entering the site is the stark vision of just the ‘constructions’ showing above the layer of snow. . . .

. . .   this snow is now a week old and has that messy look  . . . . footprints of hungry animals have imprinted everywhere . . . .

. . the square, well made brassica tent has become a teepee and Duncan’s carciofi have flopped too, under the weight of the snow . . .

. . .  things take on a new character in the white stillness. There’s little to be done until a thaw is well under way so I can turn my back on it without guilt!

On longer evenings,

Light, chill and yellow,

Bathes the serene

Foreheads of houses.

A thrush sings,

Laurel-surrounded

In the deep bare garden,

Its fresh-peeled voice

Astonishing the brickwork.

It will be spring soon,

It will be spring soon –

And I, whose childhood

Is a forgotten boredom,

Feel like a child

Who comes on a scene

Of adult reconciling,

And can understand nothing

But the unusual laughter,

And starts to be happy.  Philip Larkin   Coming

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