Maundy Thursday

the thursday before easter

we spent a whole day in anyone’s garden

observing our gardening principles

observing people

as they walk past

through

looking at us

us looking back

at them

a whole day sat in the sunshine

legs turn pink as a flamingo’s

we must have looked a right pair

but approachable

coz he came up and asked if he could take a photo

he did

took two in fact

one of us

one of me n him

grinning like cats

into the lens

we may look incongruous

suspicious perhaps

but not suspicious enough to warrant a chat from the local PC

from 9.40 to 14.00 a riot shield police van circumnavigated the area

periodically driving into the site

at a creaking pace

not sure if their presence made us feel safe – coz they were there should anything untoward happen

or fearful – because they were there expecting something to happen.

we’d each recently finished reading

edgelands: journeys into England’s true wilderness.

by a pair of poets

Paul Farley & Michael Symmons Roberts

so we sat and discussed these other artists' take on overlooked spaces…

today

in particular

we were musing over the geographic placement of an edgeland

where is the centre?

and when do we arrive at the edge?

if a city has an inner-city of wasteland – is that an edgeland?

and if the edgelands are

at the edge of the city

and at the edge of the countryside – do the suburbs classify as edgelands?

is a town in decline ‘on the edge’?

sat here less than 500 yards from the centre of a city, are we in an edgeland?

this land is indeed on the edge of something

something that looks ‘other’ to it

it’s on the edge of a housing estate

it’s on the edge of a university campus

it isn’t the centre of anything

as artists, how precise do we need to be?

should we be pedantic?

abiding by our garden principles

there’s not a lot for us to ‘do’

as such

so we just ‘be’

her and me

taking it all in

indulgently

a sparrow hawk flies overhead

a passer-by tells us that cormorants roost in a tree

every day

same time

like clockwork

down by the river

which is just behind that wall

a kestrel

so low

so close to us

we see it’s Salford red (brick) coloured plumes

a young man

hoodie clad

hoodie up

on a day that’s pushing 25º C

bends down to pick a dandelion clock

startled by something he jerks back

perhaps a buzzing insect of some kind

re-composed

he picks the dandelion

blowing it’s clock as he crosses the road

i wonder if we should make more of an effort

bizarrely

doing nothing

is one of the most challenging things I’ve done

she wonders if we should do less

stop writing the blog

after all

what we are doing

here in anyone’s garden

is

‘IT’

isn’t it?

what’s the point of a second-hand account?

it stops us being here

why do we want to, or need to, reach out to anyone other than those who pass by and through this site?

that said – we don’t actually ‘reach out’

we’re here enjoying anyone’s garden

with anyone who cares to join us

a few notes made of them:

wearing stilettos – totters

wearing a hijab

carrying cake

in a rush

waved at us

man wearing flip-flops

smoking

carrying musical instruments

smoking

wearing school uniforms

most just looked they were walking from A to B

while we sat in the centre of the edge of something