Nearing the end of today's spell on the plot, watching quicksilver droplets running over brassica leaves after their leap from the watering can's rose, I can't help it when my mind begins to ponder the allotment cycle from the point-of-view of the plants.
Does the blighted tomato really feel any different about its ultimate fate than the potato, the corn cob or the courgette? For each they have the same destiny, ripped from the ground and tossed onto the fire. Does it matter whether it is the Pink Fir Apple, given a jacket of tinfoil and placed on the barbecue next to a fine pork sausage? Or whether it is the blight-ridden tomato, its still green skin bubbling and blistering in the fierce flames of the brazier?
Ahem ... hem ... it really has been hot today and I forgot my hat.
2 comments:
Yes your existential quandary was almost Plathian in its level of despair. Hilarious!
By the way, I've often wondered where you were coming from. Your affinity with plant life finally answers my questions :)
Post a Comment