I spent a large part of Saturday outside on my hands and knees.
Weeds, trowel, barrow.
Wisened sunflower heads swayed overhead, meting out the pendulous tick of autumn.
Badly behaved dahlias tapped me on the shoulder, stems snapped awkwardly and flower heads awry.
It was warm in the sunny kaleidoscope of the undergrowth. And as I tugged, there hidden beneath the weeds,
I found a thousand tiny foxglove seedlings chuckling at the surrounding decay.