The Garden at Moorfield Journal: 17

Of Bricks and Mortar. 06.05.2023

Work begins on levelling the Veg Garden Terrace.

“Muuuuuuuum!” Nessie calls from the living room, muffled from a mouth full of cereal as I shuffle down the hall, my knee still sore and made stiff from the cold morning.

“Looooook!” she calls, I can hear the impatience in her voice at how long it is taking me to get where she wants to show me something outside the window she faces.

She can’t wait. “It’s so misty!” she yells, “You can’t see anything out there!” I love that she loves this kind of thing as much as I do.

I look where she points excitedly, I see it.

Our world submerged into an almost entirely opaque ash grey haze, which hangs completely motionless. The landscape beyond has vanished and when I go outside to try and capture it, my camera won’t focus on the fine outlines of the gums beyond, it doesn’t see them at all and keeps re-focusing me on the grass directly in front. It’s the thickest I’ve seen since last winter, this mist, though the word mist seems to describe something far less dense than this, it is more a heavy fog, a sure sign we are now on the other side of the line that is autumn between the heat, dry and blonde to the icy, sodden and green. Greens so vibrant they pulse.