The tadpoles disturb the water’s edge and we smile. The flowers upon flowers laugh in the sun, rabbits chase each other up on the hill and flies buzz about the bin bickering over the last slice of fruit. The wind whistles over empty bottles and the smell of damp mould rises- I turn my nose up, the tap off. We paint you yellow, and Don’t you look neat, clean and shining in the heat. The birds sing and it’s somehow still silent. The months have passed since the cold and life began again in the spring (for the other things). Looking at you it feels like only the beginning with stupid words and unkind men circling my head. I look at you now and in pain I grimace- at least the flowers that die off can be replaced.