After Ron’s death, new neighbours moved in upstairs. After a time, they set to work on their front garden.
Essentially, they hand-rotavated the borders, massacring flowers and weeds alike. When I first came upon what had happened, I felt sad. Another part of what Ron had left, gone.
I photographed it again a few weeks back. It has changed without anyone doing a thing.
It’s got fuller since, joined now with a large stand of borage.
Ron’s hands planted the flowers. They were cut down, but their seeds dwelt invisible in the soil and rose up legion, even stronger than before.