It had taken three months to clean the rooftop of the gravel and broken bricks. The plastic straws and glass bottles were swept away into bags and trundled away to the recycling bank. The discarded plant pots collected up, cleaned and stored for later; the patches of soil bagged up neatly, ready to be reused.

Then the planting began. Large ice-cream tubs became plant pots, and hollowed-out bricks became troughs to plant tufts of lavender and pockets of pansies. Over time, the couple nurtured little seedlings with soft words and droplets of water, until the rooftop became a sprawling jungle of honey yellows and juniper greens; bushy nettles and waving smooth leaves.

They spend their afternoons and weekends gently tending their rooftop – marvelling at the golden pom-pom bees that lazily hover in front of dandelions, which are unfurling wavering leaves through concrete cracks.

She hangs up a bird feeder, watching from the top of the metal stairwell as the first visitor greets the feeder: the whistling call of a great tit, chiming “teach-er, teach-er” at the top of its voice, delighted with the gift of seed. It’s joined by a volery of long-tailed tits, which swirl down on the feeder like a waterfall, their twittering splashing on the flowers like rain.

He fills an old washing-up bowl with pebbles and stones, digging it into a hole in the flowerbed to form a small pond, and pushing in a clump of earth attached to a sprig of purple loosestrife. When birds sip from the ripples, and butterflies feed off the flowers, his face lights up with happiness.

Night falls like a magician dropping his cloak. Together, they ascend the metal spiral steps from their flat to the rooftop. He lays out the old red rug and they sit together, surrounded by nocturnal moths drunk on nectar from sweetly-scented honeysuckles.

Mugs of hot chocolate sit beside them. The steam curls into the air like the pheromone trails of moths desperately chasing down a mate under the cover of darkness. The city lights wink in the distance, stars of ruby, emerald and sapphire — but they haven’t come to gaze at this urban light-scape.

Their eyes turn to the sky: moths and flies swirl towards the paint-brushed milky-way and pin-pricked stars — a shadow darts across the waning moon, and she gasps, her mug paused on the way to her lips. A bat snaps up some of the unsuspecting moths as it skims over their heads, its weaving trail criss-crossing the cosmos, until it melts away into the darkness.

They settle back against one another, content with their urban paradise of mossy buckets and twinkling stars.

Alicia Hayden

Alicia Hayden is in her final year at Oxford University studying Biology. Alicia has always loved the natural world, which has inspired her work, and she is an award-winning wildlife photographer and poet, artist, writer, and aspiring filmmaker. She self-published her first poetry book, Rain before Rainbows, in 2020, from which 50% of the profits go to the wildlife hospital Tiggywinkles.

You can find out more on her website, or follow her on Instagram (@aliciahaydenwildlife) and Facebook (@aliciahaydenwildlife)

“Rooftops and Stargazers” by Alicia Hayden

Alicia Hayden