The old man stepped out into the garden and stood in the sunshine. Warm, yes, but not too warm to work. He collected the battered barrow from the shed. In it a kneeler and a bucket containing gloves, a trowel and secateurs.
There had been five weeks without significant rain and at the end temperatures had been up in the mid to high thirties. Now, after some good downpours, the garden was just begining to revive and green up again.
He started cutting back the buddlia branches to the height he could comfortably reach. Most of the leaves and all of the flowers had shriveled up but there were lots of grey green new shoot buds showing life.
Not a lot of physical or mental energy was needed, shaping up the garden in the sunshine. He started thinking about something he'd read that morning, a type of poetry called Haibun. He wondered maybe ...? It was warm but not too warm to work.
Stretching up to cut,
He sees new buds in blue sky.
What new will they bring?