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The bench is in the perfect spot, shaded by a row of hornbeams. Above, fresh green buds unfurl against a pale sky, and the occasional breeze carries the faint scent of earth and blossom. “Too close to the trees,” said Jean. “You’ll have birds crapping on you before long.” He doesn’t answer. The pot wedged around his waist creaks faintly as he shifts. He stays still. Plants don’t fidget. A blackbird hops onto the gravel path, cocking its head. It pecks once at the ground, then looks up, feathers glinting blue in the sunlight. Nearby, a squirrel scurries along the path’s edge, tail flicking as it inspects the base of a tree. “You look ridiculous,” Jean adds, a laugh in her voice. “Like a hedge that’s been done over by the garden centre.” He lets out a quiet breath through his nose. The ivy scratches faintly at his arms, but he doesn’t move. Blending into the park’s greenery, he sits motionless. Passersby glance his way, dismissing him as part of the landscape. Their eyes slide over him without recognition, and he feels a quiet relief in the anonymity that shields him from well-meaning concern.A pigeon waddles close, tilting its head as if testing him. “Still as a statue,” Jean says. “Oh, but pigeons are clever buggers. Don’t let ’em get comfy—they’ll be nesting in yer ivy before you know it.”The bird takes another step closer, then flutters off as a dog barks in the distance. The cool air sharpens the ache in his hips as he shifts. Behind him, the hornbeams rustle gently, almost like a whisper.“You should be home,” Jean says after a while. He shakes his head just slightly. “Not today.” “Then what about the garden? You’ll regret leaving it for too long.” “You know I can’t do that,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. Jean doesn’t reply. The silence stretches, filled with the chatter of sparrows and the hum of a distant lawnmower. People pass by—some in pairs, others alone. None of them stop. That’s how he likes it. The sunlight shifts, dappling the path with shadows. His fingers brush the ivy on his lap, smoothing it down. Jean’s voice comes again, softer now.“You can’t sit here forever.” But for now, he can.

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The Plant Man

rainbowlaces

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John Le Drew

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