Very Cross Questioning: a study in green

Weather favoured an impromptu lunch in my herb garden.

We sat, companionable, noting how well the seventeenth century knot style planting scheme attracted pollinators and beneficial predators alike, laughed in reminiscence at reading Culpeppers’ recommended remedies, of De Medici’s skills.

I smoothed my linen skirt of remaining crumbs, groundfeeders liked them, then retrieved secateurs before bringing thoughts to the fore, made them known.

Of course I knew that she lied. Her sip of tea, without a pause after her immediate fluid answer allowed dropped gaze to rest on contained reflection.

I asked again, light in tone, weighted with surety.

A second sip, barely wetting her lips before her

“No, no”

breathed twice, pleaded release as she pulled on borrowed gardening gloves once more.

And again, I asked, phrasing truth as bold statement. Scorn,no pity for her now, none had been given to me.

“This is, is it not?”

I chose to use my words as barely sheathed claws against her nap of
satin velvet, reveal darker sheen of fibres designed to lay but one
way, and be beautiful.

Designed to fascinate and twist what was mine.

He was mine.

I would like her honesty, before the poison took hold.

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