Spitted palms

Anthriscus sylvestris -Cow parsley. Photo by David Elliott

Anthriscus sylvestris -Cow parsley. Photo by David Elliott

The garden at night is often a  forgotten place – a world of cats brushing against the bushes, and trembling mice, and hedgehogs longing for a saucer of milk. And plants, spilling their scent quietly into the grass.

Archie stepped back and disappeared inside the shawl of darkness draped across the wall. I could not see him cross over but I heard him: a belt rattled as his trousers were shaken into position, spitted palms were rubbed together and a word sounding like ‘geyerselfover’ punctured the dark. He landed in a square of light beaming from the kitchen window.

“It’s something important isn’t it?’ he said, moving towards me.

“Yes.” 

The Insistent Garden.

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