The sky is the colour of pale blue Cornflowers and the day feels full of promise as I push open the greenhouse door to let in the sweet morning air. I see it straight away, something which should not be there; a white envelope with my initial on it, a big “K”, for Karen.
This is not just any old envelope, this is a card from my husband who is divorcing me and here it is among the Chillies, Cucumbers and baby Carrots. I have never found an old war relic. Do you know the kind of thing I mean? Someone finds something metal on a beach somewhere and before you know it, the army is brought in, the area is sealed off and the experts set about assessing whether this thing is going to blow up in your face. Well where is the army now? Who is going to protect me from the fall out of this dangerous item in my greenhouse? For this is as potentially injurious to my heart as an unexploded bomb.
The air feels suddenly chill, as I stand motionless, just staring at the card, my whole being now focused on how to deal with this new danger. Like some modern day Antigone, I face my fears and open it. And although it is true that there are no men outside in combat gear, cordoning off the greenhouse area, my own inner security team seems to have come up with a protective strategy. I scan the words in the card. Read at speed, its contents do not have time to permeate my heart, which, after years of hurting suddenly seems sealed off and protected. I close the envelope again and go into the meadow. I did it. I opened Pandora’s Box and survived.