JUNE Now she is well past fifty, hay fever avoids her – enabling her to nurture those foxgloves; to celebrate: throughout two summers, she will ask for frangible pink to involve the bees; will respond to the novelty of pollen-coloured sun. Suddenly full of how garden and gardener enjoy each other, her poet friend – whose mind rather than hand tries to ennoble – perceives how the life can evolve solely where there is friction between white and dark; tart and dulcet. Copyright © JENNY JOHNSON