Gifts of Broom

by Lydia
A young baby smiles delightedly in her pram. In front of her, on the cover of the pram, is a heap of broom petals and a couple of bluebells.

The recent rain (three afternoons of thunderstorms, two accompanied by deluges, breaking the heat) has turned the first of the paths through the woods into a broom jungle, the sheer weight of all the water pushing down the whips and closing off the way forward. We picked our way through yesterday, and pruned a few lost branches today.

Auri loves the broom. Whenever we go for a walk, she presents Elfi and me with handfuls of the petals.

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