The Disobedient Garden

I have seen orderly, neat and tidy gardens
planned and planted by single-shade-obsessed
gardeners carefully creating a timid garden
which would never venture to welcome a
stray floral volunteer, a seed wafted on the
wind or left behind by a passing bird, to
disrupt the monochromatic stiffness of
the well-mannered garden inordinately
pleasing the aesthetic of a landscape-strictured
imagination. I can find it in me to admire
such gardens for their formality and beauty
lacking spontaneity and that little bit of
chaos and surprise that so pleases me in a
garden of my own choosing. Mine, for example,
is not a particularly temperamental garden,
inclined to its own paced revelations, 
intimate little follies that portray in a sense
the chaos of my own mind. Its appearance
on occasion seems to abide by my tentative
instructions, but I know it is a ruse, to tempt
me into the belief that I control the manner in
which it will flaunt the floral excesses that so
entrance me when in reality that garden has
its own mind, not obediently given to order.