There are already ripe berries on the bramble bush by the car park and it’s not even August. I wanted to pick some and take them in for my breakfast but when I pulled them away from their little stalk they began to ooze in my hands so I ate them, there and then. It felt naughty to do so. I savoured the taste. They were not too sweet but gave me a cold, blue almost metallic sensation on my tongue. My fingers were stained purple. Have I taken food from the birds, I thought, as I walked back to the flat?
Later I looked out of the window and saw one of my neighbours that I don’t know (it could’ve been the young man who works in the cycle shop) sitting on one of the new wooden benches and table and carefully, neatly potting out some seedlings.
