I went for a walk today to have a long, imagined conversation with the rare and special person. Long walks are best for that, I find.
On the way back I sat on a stile in the sunshine for ten minutes or so, and found myself idly fingering the long grass growing on the verge between the lane and hedgerow. Being a gardener who occasionally has to weed flower beds and vegetable plots, my instinct was to pull one of the blades of grass out. Fortunately, I came to my senses in time. I looked at it and realised that there was no reason to pull it out. It was living its own life, however innocuous it might seem to us, and I had no justification for interfering with that process. More than that, though, I got a sense of how beautiful it was, and what pleasure there was to be had in gently stroking the leaves. So I stroked the leaves instead, and left it growing happily away.
You can see why I live alone, can’t you?