Angels dance on pins, blood trickles down from the sky, roses in full bloom.
The beautiful song of the morning birds was brutally and dispassionately drowned out by the sound of lawn mowers. Margaret was halfway through picking the infestation of aphids off her roses, when her neighbour, Mr Carter, wheeled out his lawnmower and joined in the artificial racket. Margaret sighed and continued with the roses. When she … Continue reading Roses Are Red