Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, I have almost felt like giving up writing to you, maybe it's a bit like how Virginia Woolf describes writing in her diary ...' the worst of writing is that one depends so much on praise. I feel rather sure that I will get none for this story; and I shall mind a little.' Awakening An un-lived life to be lived Potent Spears cut the cold membrane of soil Hope returns. I would bring you gifts - Coffee in bed, flowers But 'the ebb and flow of the tide of life' Washes over me. I dream of the white cotton Your grassy bed The uplands The soft cushion of bracken. I think of the spring from where you came Gushing forcefully out of geology The geology of our roots Our minerals Our skin and bone The hills and the river Our home. Paul.