I could always tell his mood
by the state of the garden.
I knew all was well
when it teemed with
peaches, apples, strawberries,
long grass filled with damson flies,
bees fat and furry buzzing happily
around lavender bushes,
hums matching the strokes
of his spade and secateurs.
I knew storm clouds had come -
he had retreated into his dark bat cave
inside, where we could not go -
when weeds…
