This relationship has run its course. This has probably come as a shock to
you. Yes, I know. I’m the one being cruel here. You were there for me when I had nothing to
cover my soil. You were there for the
bees and insects when nothing else was growing in this sea of mud. You worked hard, keeping the erosion at bay,
helping me to develop a soil.
But I have found other friends now, other plants to relate
to. Prettier things are holding my clay
together, turning the sticky mass into soil as they decay and regrow. The birds have brought me more seeds to
germinate, poppies and aquilegia have blown in from next door, bluebells crept
from the forest. And grass. The grass has come back, just as the farmer
told us it would.
We have a deep, deep purple clover, a tiny yellow flowered
version and the classic white of school playing fields. We have vetch and so many things that we've
yet to identify.
You can stay beneath the hedges and are welcome to
proliferate in that metre wide strip we have left all round the garden for the
beetles and glow worms to breed in. But
please, leave the flowerbeds and herb garden alone. You are a nuisance amongst the spearmint and
have swamped the alpine strawberries.
I knew this right from the off, you are a thug, but when I
had no other friends you were welcome in my garden. But no more.
And then you let your mate the bindweed in without asking me first. A step too far.
Creeping
buttercup, I’ve had enough. Be gone.
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