Like snow the agapanthus blossom
twirled to the ground, prompted by winds that
do not normally disturb the micro
climate of the south garden. The new
phormium has taken well, doubled in
size and capacity to filter the
wind seeking to invade the space, so I
can only hope that next time, next year,
it will be even more effective
against the tide of climate change and
disruption. Waving long copper-black straps
it points to my damaged aeonium,
and mimics my witch’s broom with promise
of magic not just confined to the
hex celebrations of midsummer.
The agapanthus will blossom again.