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I tell stories
100 words, or sometimes more


The Arctic Circle runs through my garden.

Somehow it always feels colder once I cross that invisible line.

I grow yellow poppy and purple saxifrage, alternating through the flower-bed. Yellow and purple might not seem like a match, but any single colour becomes bland after a time. Contrast reminds you what you love about both.

I remember we’d come out here in summer, bask in the seven-degree heat. Even then, I think, I realised you weren’t happy. You missed the south.

It was still a shock when you left.

Now, it’s just me. Flat. Featureless. But I’m hardy. I’ll survive.

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