Melbourne, Opinion, Writing

The pretty garden

I ventured out for a walk. Earbuds pumped out music as I pounded the footpath.

I passed a small suburban shopping centre, houses, three childcare centres, housing development sites and workers, and, as I began to head towards home, many shopfronts as I walked down a bustling street shopping strip. Trams rocked past, car horns tooted and people wandered in and out of cafes.

I took it all in as strode on by, while Muse blared in my ears. Well, in one ear—I kept one bud loose for safety purposes. I am on the older side of life now.

It was the lush greenery of a garden that caused me to smile, especially as my left heel began to ache from the exercise. Pretty flowers, trees and well-manicured grass greeted passers-by and visitors to such a well-kept property. The garden did its job: it stirred me, invited me, lured me. My hand did hover near the gate, wanting to go in to seek refuge in the serene garden, or to go further, and look at what must be perfection behind the front door. But I gave into propriety.

And then, I finished my walk and arrived at my own front gate where I found a fresh load of dog poo on the footpath.



8 thoughts on “The pretty garden”

      1. Whether it works or not, it’s a story in itself – and yes, it does work; a friend of mine who worked with zoo animals used to bring home a particular lump, mix it with water and spray it on the back fence (a laneway), and no more spraying cats visited his yard or dug his vege patch!

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I can understand your frustration it happened to me years ago and myself and my neighbour got some florescent paint and painted them every day. I can’t remember how we stopped the fellow but I have a vague recollection of shouting at someone. It is very frustrating, you have my sympathy.

    Liked by 1 person

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