MOLES #11

Sitting under a huge umbrella, cuffs buttoned and sock-enclosed feet sweating in the heat, Gerard surveyed the garden.

Gazing on his precious lawn gave him no pleasure, no satisfaction or sense of achievement.

Nothing held his attention. The morning’s news had knocked him sideways.

Distracted by desperate thoughts racing through his head, he eventually noticed another small hillock in the grass. How he hated moles!

Moles!, scratching in the dark. Blind Moles!, sending upwards evidence of their pernicious activity.

Dorsal, irregular moles he could not see but had scratched ‘til they bled;
Fearful, growing, life-threatening skin cancer moles.