Weeds
Season 3.6: I close my eyes and see; roots, tendrils, leaves, vines.
Article voiceover
I close my eyes and see; Roots, tendrils, leaves, vines. Dandelions and thistles, Splayed out and growing In my mind. I hear the crack and snap of roots, dividing below the surface, Pulled firm but gentle from the soil. The wet squeak of fresh sprouts squeezed, Gripped, their juices wetting the glove, Oozing hairy green stems. The thud of an axe swung and sunk Below the roots, Where “clunk!” the knotted binds are lifted; Levered from the mud with picks and grunts. A relentless growth. Plumes of wild garlic, Draughts of decaying grass and leaf, The bitter wet grit of soil on teeth. The dusty haze of ivy spores, When vines are pulled and scraped from walls; Their yellowed skeletons left to weather. Discarded plastic bags, Dissolving at the touch, And brittle broken flower pots, And heinz tomato ketchup Sachets; bleached white, But still there like a blister, Crackling with the peanut packets. The armour of a beetle, Black, glistening ick. Rare. Exposed. Scuttling in panicked desperation, Like the squirming worms Half holed in the sod. Or the scattering woodlouse, The centipedes and millipedes Stumbling over stones and sticks, To new holes in which to feed and fester. A robin flutters in to feast, Brushing “thank you” against the wall, Hard work makes for some, easy food.
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Read more from Season 3…
This is the third season of Notes and Noises. If you liked this (or didn’t) why not take a quick look at some of the other posts in the series:
It's such a pleasure to read this out loud, feeling the crunch of the words and the weeds.
What beautiful writing David. The descriptions of the tiniest details are so evocative.
What else is there in those 'finest' of moments, the noticings that fill the senses. Love the prophetic robin at the end.