by Kirstin Baillie.
Sitting on the green plastic chair we’ve had for decades, I dutifully observe and inspect all that is before me. I stalk the pots, eyes skimming over, hands on hips, nodding contently at nothing in particular. I walk barefoot on the wet grass, lifted by earth's healing power, I breathe in and out, grateful for the spring sun kissing my face like it’s not seen me in years, gifting me a new patch of freckles that grow unapologetically over my face. The neighbours sassy cat parades down the gravel, the wilting daffs sway in awe at her feline majesty. A bee swoops into greet me with furious urgency and caught by surprise I scream to inform it I’m not food. On yir way little one, I say, as I follow its flight into the cotoneaster tree where it hovers, wondering when it can gorge on the bounty of tiny red flowers that will dazzle in summer. The bird song has dwindled since dawn but still, chirps and tweets nestle in my ears along with the harmonious hum of the foraging army dooking for pollen. Clumps of Californian poppy’s, dappled bluebells and eager shoots biding their time are just a few of the many flora that grace my eyes as I graze springs premium. There’s weeding, watering and other jobs to do, but for now I am content to watch a seedling that has grown a centimetre or two.
Kirstin is a Volunteer with the Kinning Park Complex. She keeps the garden thriving with interesting herbs for teas and for flavouring meals at the community café.