Seed heads in the garden

I started my WEA class again in Literature and Social History. It's the 1960s now, the decade of my birth. I remember Johnson but not Kennedy, Vietnam but not Indo China, the Beatles but not Beatniks. The year I turned five, I wore a turquoise trouser suit. The lining was cold, and the woollen fabric itched.


Back home, CleanSteve had had a massive bonfire. I dragged a few more things over to it.
Mostly old piles of weeds....

Now I must go to bed. But first wash off the wood smoke. These seed heads were on the back step. All life is there.