One from the heart

Been feeling hungover since Saturday, but not because I was drunk. Which I wasn't. Too many kids to look after for that. Then I thought it was 'man-flu' (you know, the kind we men 'soldier through', while women just get on with the work). But now I am coming to accept it's a broken heart. Don't mean to be dramatic. After all, it will pass. But no matter how well the party went. And it was truly magical. How proud I am to hand over to Ruth a living breathing, thriving allotment rescued from ruin. How much I am looking forward to 'starting over' with Scarlett, whose plot has sun and dormant life and promise and whose myspace site is a revelation!). It seems I just need to acknowledge the wrench, the missing, the mourning, of leaving the land I have loved. Somehow the deeper I dig in the garden, the deeper I dig into myself.