Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.
And the chocolate cupcake I had for breakfast wasn’t bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Sunday mornin’ Comin’ Down…
Kris Kristofferson (with cupcake substitutions)
… not from drugs and beer and wild, all-night partying I hasten to add but from the exhilaration and unalloyed pleasure that has been coursing through me during my month at Benmore Botanic Garden.
Thank you to everyone who made it possible. You’ve not only given me a whole heap of fun but I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be a better writer, and no doubt at all that I’ll be a better gardener, for having had the experience.
However, if I wasn’t feeling sad enough, my faithful boots have split.
I bought them for fifty pence, a good few years ago, at a car-boot sale and they have been my trusty companions ever since.
However, after tramping miles along the East-Anglian coast, the Yorkshire Dales and numerous other places, not to mention the miles they’ve done in Argyll, for example, up and down Puck’s Glen
they’ve finally worn out.
I’ve laid them to rest at Benmore. They were happy there.
And, to delay my leaving just a little while longer, here is one last four-line, tree-themed poem…
The Same by Trinath Gaduparthi, India
We are the same.
Reflect the light within.
A thought photosynthesis.
Spread the word pollen.