I had to double check with Annie that I could join How Does Your Garden Grow when I wasn’t actually talking about a garden. How does your verge grow, doesn’t have the same ring does it? Or How Does Your Central Reservation Grow. Just no.
Last week whilst driving to Tesco my mind was racing with all the things I had to remember. Not just the shopping list in my head but the form I need to sign for a school trip. The duvet in my boot that needs to go to the dry cleaners. The fact the dog needs his annual boosters before he can go to kennels next month…. the list as always is endless.
But as I came up the slip road and onto the dual carriageway the voice in my head suddenly saw the most incredibly beautiful display of wild flowers on the central reservation and went silent. Since I was doing 60mph and there is nowhere to stop I carried on to Tesco and vowed to come back with my camera.
Roll forward three days to Sunday.
I’m just going out for half an hour
Okay. Where are you off to?
Oh right, what for?
To photograph a central reservation
Of course you are
How could I not though?
I have definitely started to appreciate the every day much more in recent years. And not only that but I have learned to stick two fingers to people who say or think “but you can’t do that”.
Yes, yes I can.
So I did.
Parking in a side road Mr B and I ventured up on the central reservation of the main road from Aldershot to Farnborough and stood in the grass amongst the flowers, as cars rattled past on both sides at 60mph and took pics.
Well I took pics
Mr B had left his memory card at home
But don’t tell him I told you
People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.
Nobody sees a flower – really – it is so small it takes time – we haven’t time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
I never really think of poppies as being a flower seen in June, I only think of them in November when they are worn on lapels, and not really actually growing in fields, or on verges. Their red seemed amplified against the white of the daisies.
Or maybe they stood out as they are growing so close to Aldershot, the last place many soldiers called home
The poppies might be wilted and trampled by the throng, but the memory of our fallen will live on and on and on