The nursery opened out into fronds of unfurling colour.
Lilac lupins stoop.
Drizzle drips from fuschia lanterns and bees weave the melliferous motorway.
Hostas hate slugs.
Moss clings to plastic pots and a thrush plucks tufts from weedy clumps.
Next to the lean-to shed a creamy rose thrusts its throne of buds and I buy it.