@FOLIO ART
I’M WORRYING AGAIN. IT’S THAT familiar, gut-deep tug. Clenched teeth and furrowed brow. Not a single dandelion left, not one! I tear up at the roadside, feeling simultaneously silly and furious.
It’s a morning in late April, spring has barely got started, and yet it has begun. The cutting. The mowing, the strimming and hacking. I’m standing by a busy A-road, near the supermarket, watching a lad on a giant mower annihilate a bank of basking dandelions and bobbing cowslips. How anyone can mow a cowslip I don’t understand. These butter-yellow wildflowers are the sunny faces of spring! They cause no harm, nor do they obstruct views on roads, or scratch or sting. Yet we mow them down – it’s heartbreaking. I bend down and pick up a slightly wilting, severed flower, twirling it between my fingers.
A horrible sensation sits in my tummy for the rest of the day. I find myself feeling sad as I drink my brew after lunch. This incident is just one small patch of cowslips, but it’s indicative of a bigger problem. The same can be said for my mood. The amount of time I
