
Soft pine trees are just visible over the turning-japanese fencing, with box balls and other low pots enclosing a small, private space (if anyone is up there, they would have to stand up and look around for me to see them). Either genuine lead troughs or a more practical plastic facsimile put lavender at shoulder-brushing height as you head for the steps.
The third lavender pot his suffering in the dry, but also has a suspicious gap in the centre of it; almost exactly as if a pigeon had nested there.
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