Wildflower Diary – 3rd August

I found one sock — just one — lying face down in the soil with a look of quiet defiance. The robin sat above it on the line, chest puffed out, looking smug. I can’t prove anything, but the case is strong.

Mint advanced another six inches toward the watering can, moving like it has a plan. I expect it may start quoting motivational slogans.

The house feels quiet. Just me and the ticking of the hallway clock, which sounds more judgemental than usual. I haven’t written any poetry for a few days. I think I’m circling something, but haven’t quite named it yet.