end of the garden · nine summers · last opened to fetch a rake
smaller inside than out, as all sheds are. a fork, a spade, two trowels in a flowerpot, twine wound on a sycamore stake. a kettle the gardener was keeping for some other purpose.
the wasps came in through a gap in the apex board the year the gardener went into hospital. they have built well, in three tiers, on the underside of the eave. nobody goes in for the rake.
the door stands not-quite-shut. nettles have come up to the latch. light through the little window falls on a piece of slate someone meant to put up but did not.
field-note: the nest is a city. they know about you long before you know about them.