I was talking with an old friend, some one who has been around the block with me over the years. As with most women of a certain age, we got to the heart of the matter pretty quickly. I realised that for more than 20 years I have been inside the kind of job that steals your voice. Now I have loved this job, . . .
Always in the same spot under this large tree. Who planted them or when? In the morning light, their petals glow, sparkling gems of amethyst and gold. So climb over two strands of barbed wire. Get even closer. Any photographer would yearn for gritty urban street drama? But down in this dewy grass, in the sweet scent of crocuses . . .
After the devastation of the storm, the tree may be gone but the crocuses are still blooming unharmed beneath it...... . . .