I’m weeding a friend’s garden for cash, my hands sore and a blister developing from repetitive sweeping. The sun’s warm on my hair and back, pleasant, not to hot to work though. I’ve just drunk a near cold cup of tea and can still taste it in my mouth. Even after sweeping for two hours leaves are falling and coating the paving. The sight of them makes me anxious.
The remaining plants smell fresh and slightly herbal but not a patch on the lilies that sit on the kitchen counter.
