If I had enough time, I’d work on the barn more slowly, say no not today, maybe tomorrow I’ll help you sort out *&%^$** .
I’d play my saxophone every day, use my rowing machine and lose that extra stone, play the guitar again, dig over my allotment more thoroughly, not in such a rush, enjoying the moment, the smell of the broken soil, watching the worms, the earwig scuttling off, carefully picking out every last bit of fragile, white bindweed root …..
but in fact I’m trying to practise Permaculture, so I don’t dig over the whole allotment ever, usually I leave it covered perhaps with a green manure such as field beans or cardboard, composted leaves or leave the stalks with seed heads for the birds and the untidy joy of the seasons displayed, first frost on browning leaves.
Yes it is autumn now, the leaves so colourful have started falling in earnest now.
Each time I drive to Rob’s deserted deathly hush flat there are more leaves on the pavements of Redland, leaves being removed from green Clifton lawns and yes our Green has been covered, overshadowed, lost, yet not gone in our hearts. Molly his just teenage daughter still senses his presence.
For 15 days I’ve been stirring up his immaculately organised stuff, delving into his affairs, stopping his life with letters, death certificates, phone calls, moves towards probate, an ever approaching finality , that my son-in-law and friend is really dead, his goods and chattels dispersed, his life deconstructed.
Beautifully shaped yellow maple leaves waiting to fall. The red leaves on the Japanese maple next to the Buddha in my garden who gently smiles at me.
Robert Leslie Green 12th August 1964 – 8th October 2010
