When visiting my mum last Christmas I notice she still has a few flowers in bloom in her window box. I’m curious: the flowers are varied; dainty; so delicate; such pretty colours and yet they are surviving the cruel battering of this Scottish windowsill. I ask her what they are as they all look so varied. She tells me they’re just wild flowers
explains that she never sees fields full of wild flowers anymore
when she was a young girl, she used to play in fallow fields flourishing
wild flowers dispersed
loved to look at all the variations that would spring up
random and diverse
she was cultivating wild plants on a windowsill
to bring back colour
bring back wild, wild play
(adapted from an online article about weeds I wrote for Frowned Upon)