I’m writing to you from our rented garden, bees making their way towards the most recently opened calendula flower; the love-in-a-mist sown way past the dates advised— just about to burst open too. And I am moved by this in unexpected ways; this act of defiance born of desire; born of blind trust. They are one of my complete and utter beloveds, nigella are. They are up there alongside poppies and cornflowers, although my gorgeous tattoo artist found we had no time to get either done; there will be time another time. I was away a lot during what is viewed as the window for sowing nigella seeds. A wee while back, when the grief of having my first year without them since I started growing sunk in, I decided to throw caution to the wind. This is not the kind of thing I do in other parts of my life. I normally try, as best I can,
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