Monday, 9 May 2011
An apple tree, as small in stature as its habitat but proudly fruit bearing; come in, more fruit trees, pears, plums and then, quite unexpectedly at the very back of the garden, where you think, believe, there are blackberry brambles, your eye catches. Lingers. Is it? Can it be? Stepping in, you eagerly follow the trailing vine, up the wall. Your gaze halts. Perfect, sweet clusters. There are grapes growing, hiding, a perfect garden secret.
Wisha, wisha, wisha. The trees swaying gently. A child's laugh.
There I am.
Sitting, listening to my breath. Outside noises, softened: birds, trees, breeze. I am hidden. A wall of twisting, gently grabbing tendrils, reaching up to a point above me, surrounding me in brilliant sunlit green. The perfect place for a four year old girl to day dream - a pea wigwam.
It was here that I had my first taste of freshly popped peas. Straight off the stalk. I would of, if I could of, eaten the wigwam bare. It was and is to this day a flavour, that makes me utterly happy, in the moment. There is simply nothing quite like new peas. Grassy, sweet, but singular, bold. Wonderful enough to be eaten with nothing more than fresh air.
I have spent the day building pea wigwams. Creating little hiding places. Building new memories.