I always see the plants first.

The strawberries in the old wellington boot,

The herbs swaying in the wind.

Checking every day to see if a new flower has emerged yet.

Then I see the bird house,

And welcome my feathered visitors whatever the weather.

Summer brings raspberries,

Lining along the shed majestically.

Winter shows me the bare trees in the distance,

All waiting to be clothed in leaf once again.

Then I see the houses.

And I remember – neighbours.

We have neighbours,

And I don’t know any of them.