Finding Wilderness and Kin

My first garden in Amsterdam is the one outside my hotel window.

I’m on the third floor and there is the crown of a mature birch tree at the centre of my view: dark, delicate arches of witches-broom twigs with small golden yellow leaves back-lit by pinky morning sun. There’s a wren – that I can’t see – singing its heart out and, every so often, a trio of squawking green necked parakeets sail over.

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