It’s rare to stumble across this:
Land left without a manicure,
Raw nature, standing untended
Or, at least, unchanged for a while,
Allowed to spread its arms and breathe,
To relax, far from the treadmill.
Behind the padlock on the gate,
A run-down, flaking, disused shed
Is masked by brambles, overgrown;
A rusty post clasped half-way up
By suffocating, unscythed grass.
A paradise for unseen life.
Soon it will be knocked into shape
By agents of an eager world.
Wildernesses comes in all shapes and sizes.
Equally, I love to see allotments; there's something deeply noble about a little man both battling and harnessing nature.
Isn’t it strange how we covet a tidy garden ourselves but also equally relish seeing a near unspoilt wilderness (not that many exist these days) when we go for walks and such.
Personally I like to see where buildings have been built and where tiny weeds/flowers are springing up through the cracks. Makes me realise that nature will win out after we are all gone!
Thank you for this piece Stephen, which I missed on Saturday whilst fighting with a new wooden floor in the spare bedroom. Could be inspiration there? Well done!
My thanks to Nigel, Russell, Hélène, K Lynn, Holden and Rudyard.
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Stephen Gospage
Tue 21st Feb 2023 09:08
Thank you, Graham and John. Yes, like you, I am always aware that nature will win out at some stage. And it is alarming, but also reassuring in a way, to see how quickly it reasserts itself when left to its own devices.
I hope you won the battle with the floor, Graham. I feel your pain.
Allotments, eh, John? A labour of love. Like you I enjoy seeing them.