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Weekly Contest #366
Our garden used to be perfect. Each bush was artfully trimmed, every flower was flawless and beautiful, birds sang each morning. Sarah used to spend hours pruning leaves and digging in the soil. At lunchtime we’d sit in the shade of her apple tree with some elderflower cordial and a bowl of freshly harvested strawberries and watch the world go by. The birds would swoop and soar around the garden and she’d tell me stories about where they had come from and where they were going. “That one over by the table is Mr Goldfinch, he’s back from a ...
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