Summer's Lease...
Finally a day that felt like summer. Warm enough to go bare-shouldered and to eat outside in my hodge-podge pocket hanky of a garden. Warm enough to run with the dog through newly cut grass. Warm enough to have to water the plants again this evening. Finally something like summer.
But also warm enough to notice the flipping litter strewn all over the place; plastic bags and fast-food containers and broken glass pock marking the hedgerows and the verges. Warm enough to hear the roar of motorbikes as they do double the speed limit with blithe impunity. Warm enough to hear the neighbours' dire choice of country'n'western dross on one side and teenaged metal rap on the other. And no matter if I was ill mannered enough to turn Radio 4 up to the max, I don't think the sound of The Archers would drown either of them out.
More and more I wish that I didn't live in the suburbs, where everyone sees you the minute you walk out the door; where neighbours impinge, however thoughtlessly and where the roar of the dual carriageway is never too far away.
When I first moved here, years ago, the countryside was still only a lane away and the road was a trickle of traffic. There were no grumpy teenagers with blue bags and loud music. It was peaceful here, then. It's still pretty quiet, here, tucked in my still little turn of a few houses. But it's no longer quiet enough.
Summer's lease hath all too short a date....
