Platero And I: Ode In The Garden
They say my garden is wild, Platero, as is my hair – Martha would be ashamed if she saw this garden.
Don’t they know this garden is an ode to Martha?
That every year when the leaves lose grip, I prune erratic. I seek your approval, Platero, because you‘ve seen Martha do it so often.
That hedge over there: sloppy and unevenly shaven; the bushes butterflies like to sit on, brusquely stripped of their thick branches – hopefully none vital.
That’s why this garden is an ode to Martha: because I’m lost without her and not just in the garden.
From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys
Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.