digging again

I’m sitting by my onion bed under the birch tree and amongst bluebells, nettles, brambles and willow-herb, all about a foot high.
After the council lorry left I sowed a red and a green cabbage in the centre of my maincrop-potato and pea bed and three French beans in three wigwams, blue, green and red-striped (the beans not the wigwams). I bought these varieties thinking they would be interesting on my Farmers’ Market stall. I mulched the beans and strawberries that I’ve now un-cloched, then turned and activated the compost and now I’m back to my favourite occupation… digging.
After only a short spell I feel calm and contemplative. If I were to compare gardening and painting then digging would be comparable to stretching and priming canvas and planting would be more like the act of painting. As a painter I found painting a stressful and angst-ridden activity, no wonder I subsequently enjoyed my job as a technician.
Nearly 3pm and I’m still here, thank goodness for instant soup. Dug and planted the last corner of my onion bed, the soil is much lighter this end of the allotment. So much for imminent rain, it’s sunny and hot again.
A bee, I think, keeps hovering beside me at head height then zipping off and re-appearing in front of me, I wonder if it’s checking me out?