GARDEN NOSTALGIA?

I’m one of the lucky ones.

Had access to a garden all my life.

Since staring at the sky in my Silver Cross

To eating earth as I learnt to crawl.

Then waging wars and terrible air crashes in the rockery,

Or totally absorbed by the multitudes of wondrous pond dwellers.

And later, nose stuck in book, sitting on pond steps,

Semi-conscious of the sounds, birds, bees, flies, the plop of a frog.

Or hiding from a hiding,

Or a family row.

Or, more happily,

Riding my bike round in circles, till big brother let go!

Wonderful smells from the flowers,

But best of all to me, powerfully nostalgic,

What can beat the smell of freshly cut grass?