The After-Midnight Garden

Though the garden’s paved over, the flowers are back, regular as swallows, or renewal notices for that gym you haven’t visited for so long that you can’t remember exactly where it is. This latter is a mystery that, though it doesn’t keep you awake at night in and of itself, is yet another nagging concern which inveigles itself into the seemingly endless catalogue of your insomniac considerations. Nights, you are certain, are both darker and longer than they used to be, stretched out of all proportion by the prospect of new plagues, digital intrusions, and all those nightmares – from nazis to nuclear annihilation – that you were sure we’d laid to rest by the end of the twentieth century. Who needs a gym when, night after night, your bench pressing the weight of the world’s fear? You swallow: the bitter taste of concrete and iron. But, beneath that, just a hint to swaddle you into sleep: the sweet smack of returning flowers.

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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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