My Garden, My Treasure

My garden is stubborn. Yet we enjoy an 
amicable relationship, one of reciprocal
collaboration, mostly patience on its part 
with my constant conceits over colour
shapes and textures. My garden will not be 
told in certain terms how it must behave. 
Whereas I tend to discriminate, my garden 
has a far breezier attitude and welcomes the 
sudden presence of unanticipated and in fact
uninvited guests. My penchant is to nurse
cultivated varieties of flowering plants.
Not so my garden for it has a far more
pacific attitude that all are welcome. What
I identify as weeds, my garden makes room
for and not only tolerates, but takes pride
in their presence, seeing little difference
between wild and tame, all are nature's and
thus equal in status. My garden, my treasure.
My garden has been hard at work at my
beckoning, obligingly nurturing annuals
to flower without end and perennials to
perform their seasonal flowering before
tucking them away discreetly for another
year. And another year beckons, close on
the weather horizon. A fact my garden has
taken to studiously ignoring. Although my
garden is steadily fading it is in rebellion
for as I mentioned, no one, not even nature
herself calling in frosty nights and chilling
rainstorms alongside autumn winds, is able
to persuade my garden it's time to rest and
slumber under the snow soon to fall. My
garden's resistance to the inevitable is, I must
admit, a reflection of my very own, for I
have no wish to bid it adieu for another year.