Gone but not Forgotten

That’s the last substantial tree gone then. My newish neighbour hates trees. Thinks they are going to fall on her so told me of her plan to uproot everything along our boundary. Previously a nice secluded, if a little wild, place to relax and enjoy some privacy in our garden – now completely open to be overlooked from her back lawn (can’t call it a garden) and the street beyond.
I wonder where the little inquisitive robin will nest this year…



I met my new neighbour over the fence today – she seems very nice. She asked if I knew what kind of tree the sole one left along her boundary was, she wants to chop it down but needs to check there are no restrictions. I said that there are a lot of birds that nest there and she replied that she would probably leave it until the autumn. Her garden is ringed by stumps of the mature trees that were recently felled. When I commented that she had done a lot of work. She answered that she worried about trees falling in high winds. I think to myself that the tree is quite some distance from the house and withstood the hurricane of ’87 that blew away the pier and toppled countless trees. I wish I’d said it.
As I am mowing the grass later, I note the lack of birds that are usually hovering ready for a feast, a couple of tiny moth-like creatures skitter over the cuttings and a few grey tipped feathers lie in the springy grass.

Father’s Day

I take my Dad to the garden centre – he wants some border plants and when I say that I will buy him some for Father’s Day he tells me that he is looking for a perennial. A riot of bright colours catch his eye and he goes pottering off around the spindly stalks and differently textured leaves. I get side-tracked by the bird-baths and plan where I could place one to benefit all occupants of my garden.
Joining my father, I am pleased to see that he is like a little boy in a sweet shop; rooting around with obvious delight and we start to gather some passable specimens. Then he spots a foxglove.
Digitalis” he says, “Reminds me of my Dad. When he was ill, before he died, he was taking digitalis tablets…”
I look at the vivacious pink, goblet-shaped flowers with their speckled animal-print throats and think they are rather attractive in a sort of juicy-red-apple-offered-to-Eve way. We leave with a boot full of plants and, in prize position, the towering foxglove for my Dad to remember his Dad on Father’s Day.

Raindrop Universe

Little worlds
in each raindrop,
on each leaf,
in each garden.
How can we
be the only
sentient life
here in this
Raindrop Universe

A Darby eye view

Here I am sitting on a fence post; Joan, my mate, sits further along just above the fat ball. She looks a bit like one herself, so comfortably ready to roost. Our cook stands in the kitchen watching us while her own mate roots around in the bushes just below me. Occasionally he emerges triumphantly holding some juicy morsel aloft then throws it into the green bag.
Today we have other company in the garden – both of the un-feathered, two-legged variety. Are both preparing to fly? One is on the flat roof the other up a ladder which wobbles worryingly from side to side. Both have a plumage that is splattered like that busy square in Newport where we meet up with our fellow pigeons and have fun dive-bombing those humans below. Eventually they grumble and leave and we home in. Dinner!
Darby or Joan Pigeon

Whirls and twirls and good time girls

The near-empty coconut shell pirouettes while Alice, Ruby and Albertine Rose’s leaves flap like the fringes of a fashionably-dressed girl from the 20s.  Peanut holders draw lazy circles, growing larger and faster as the wind whips the courtyard heralding the forecasted gales and the polyanthus shake their heads in dismay; worrying, no doubt, of what will become of them as they sit behind their prison of green garden wire.


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