i put the magenta in the centre of the pot, surrounded round the edge by the yet-to-flower small plugs of lobelia. the pot is black, accountremented with black painted small plastic tree frogs and neo-gothic shapes and tresses. it looks like a witch's thing. the lobelia will grow to drape the sides of this affectation and will last a couple of months. it's a plant that likes water and sun. it's fragile in a way and not extravagent. i'm not even sure i like it all that much. it has modernity in its aspect. but it grows at a pace i like. noticeable daily difference. there is always something new to see. and, mostly by accident, i have a white theme to the front garden. interesting as i live on a multi racial street of frayed nerves and i am white. so they say.
it's 5.30am. toast and lemonade before bed. the place where i will later lie, oblivionating horror until i am no longer awake.
lobelia and geranium in the nighttime breeze outside my window. the breeze. the cool. the slightly damper air. again thinking of the night fox before, looking up at my window, briefly, before turning and trotting away, between cars, under the streetlights.
i am waiting. i am being.