My Garden

I found the garden after I moved in to the house. It is a couple of metres long, maybe a metre wide. The shape appears to be vaguely triangular. The back door of the house opens on to it, that makes up one side. Another side is taken up by the wall of the house, the window in the kitchen looks out onto it. The third side is made of fence. Wooden panel fences that are taller than me. There is a little gap underneath one, but you can't see much under it. Where most gardens might have grass, flowers, trees, all there is in mine is an uneven sloped layer of concrete. On the concrete are decayed leaves (blown in by the wind) and cigarette butts (left by people at my parties, I suppose). There were a few pieces of rubbish (a cigarette packet - again, presumably left by people at one of my parties, and an empty cheesecake box, once used to catch a spider in) that I removed. There is a step from the house to the garden, and it is a concrete slab. I tried sitting in the garden, on a cushion, since it was a sunny day, but there was very little sun, since the garden is completely shaded. I hoped to smell the summery scents of blossom and inhale some fresh air, but there was a distinct whiff of oil making the garden quite nauseating if you spent too long out there. Maybe barbecues aren't such a good idea. My garden, the miniaturized industrial estate, the boxed in redundant pavement. The one redeeming feature - if you look up, you can see the sky.