More signs of spring. I spend many of my lunch hours sat in the gardens of St Dunstan's church ruins. The gardeners were out this week. I watched, peeking over my book, as they laboured over the lawn, carefully rolling the grass out over smoothed dirt like a rug. There was such an art to it, and I admired the sprightliness in their effort and could see the fullfillment of their task when they stood back every few minutes to admire their work. The garden was transformed, from a bare weathered pit to a colourful vibrant oasis in the middle of the city.
As my hour for lunch came to a close, I realised that I envy these men and the handiwork that they do with such care. So many people retire into gardening - these men have made a living of it.
