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