Dear LPG,

I think that we older people are the ones that make time for the little things around us that decorate our streets.  Perhaps because we have a little more time to really appreciate them.  In my experience there is also an element of increased appreciation as our walking slows down and it takes longer to pass some of the really beautiful. 

We have all got used to a more locally centred lifestyle over the past year where the end of the street has become the end of our worlds if we have been allowed to get that far away from home.  Many of us have had to make do with the view from our windows but, have you noticed that whatever else is happening around us, nature carries on regardless.

Every street has one particular neighbour who has mastered the art of gardening to a point where their garden tells the story of the seasons with flowers and I hope that I have captured the best part of the recurring story of spring in this poem…

LIFE IS SHORT IN SPRING

First glimpsed in a spring garden,

Daffodils proud on a green stem,

Yellow heads bowing in the wind.

Move by and marvel.

Soon the tulips. More variegated

Colours bred by the nursery.

While wild flowers also abound.

Pass through and praise.

Best of all on a sun-splendid day,

Beauteous bluebells on a forest floor

Set off by wedding white wild garlic.

Walk on and wonder.

Universal mourning succeeds wonder.

The pristine colours pass away.

Flowers fade, fall over and die.

Pause to remember. Life is short.

Foster Murphy