My Tangled Garden

I've my own version of a wonderfully
realized tangled garden, equally colourful,
monumentally textured as A.Y. Jackson's
famous painting. While yet still spring
the warmth of the sun, this Valley's humidity
conspire with nature to urge all growing
things to green anarchic celebration.

Each of the trees, shrubs, bushes in my
beloved garden has a well developed
personality; to tamper with is to invite
dismayed rejection. Each flourishes
enthusiastically resistant to shaping,
containment or instruction to respect the
confines assigned, aspiring instead to
capturing area not their own.

Patiently, I have learned through long
observance to allow each its successive
celebration of bloom. And when their
conceit has been fulfilled, admirable
presence of colour and fragrance muted for
another year, out come the shears, the
pruners, the secateurs and order is restored.

Allowing yet another garden contingent
to declare prominence and clamouring
claim to admired presence, in a prolonged,
summer-long process of affecting need.