The Sky-Chugging Storm

It's a tame life we live; we accept
slight challenges and derive great
satisfaction in our small triumphs.
In the garden, the opportunities to
greet adversity with determined
actions are many, but of happy
moment to the intrepid gardener
thrilling to the immediate challenge.

The fragrance of damp soil, the
promise inherent in the effort to
aid sun and rain bring extravagant
colour shadings, varied architecture
and plush textures to prominent
garden features, drowning the
senses in deeply sensual bliss.

To thrust deeply into soil richly
composted, darkly crumbling with
growing nutrients, hosting burrowing
insects of the garden. A sense of
power and availment overwhelms.
The purpose: to move and transplant
faithful perennial clumps, and roses
to locations better suited to their
growing needs; to see them thrive.

This compels the action, impels the
change. The sky above is heavy with
dark clouds, the atmosphere cloying
with humidity, and one distant clap
after another gives ample warning
of imminent inundation. Nothing
deterred, the feverish digging proceeds
along with gentle removal and final
disposal, patting soil about the plant.

Lightning rents the clouds, sending
bright rods of energy and light
Earthward, counting down the arrival
of the sky-chugging storm whose
violent intent is deduced from the
ever-insurgent booms drumming the
sky, moving inexorably closer to the
target my garden has become.

It is nothing short of exhilarating
to race the storm. Perform the
penultimate transplant, calmly
proceed to the last as heavy drops
begin to lash the air. The final work
is done, warm, moist soil patted
into place, anchoring the plant.

One arm scoops my confused little
dog, the other my tools, for a mad
dash to the garden shed for tool
disposal. Deep breath, and the full
impact of the storm raging above,
thunder thumping the atmosphere,
light shafts renting the clouds, we
tear through the deck door, wet
and fulfilled, danger defied.