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.