Uncompromising Garden Thugs

 

Their sunny disposition and pleasant

appearance make them a favourite of

many who consider themselves wise

connoisseurs of beauty and such quirks

as appearing only in the morning hours

retreating shyly once afternoon has arrived.

But there is nothing shy about them as I

discovered having once invited them

to my home for a visit conditional upon

leaving in due time. With winter due

time arrived and they departed. Little did

I know that for years to follow my visitors

would take it upon themselves to time and

again reappear as though my lapse in

judgement entitled them to permanent

residence. True, there are compensations

when morning sun awakens those blue

petals and the flowers unfurl kissed by

light and warmth, a metaphor perhaps

of life's reliance on that golden orb's very 

presence. Trouble is, generations have

overwhelmed the scaffolding they rely

upon, my fence burdened by capricious

ownership of what is mine, not theirs while 

their countless offspring have settled in 

the garden disrupting legitimate residents

whose presence I treasure. No amount of

reasonable invitation for them to cease and

desist fazes those impertinent, lovely thugs.

Thou Shalt Not Enter

Should by chance you happen to
pass by on the street you might glance
toward our garden extending to public
view, colourful and lovingly tended
a nod to the outside world where
gardens and the delights they hold
are generally acknowledged to
represent a pastime of those retired
no longer commuting to workplaces
consuming their energy and undivided
attention. Ours is such a one which
grew over the years as though invested
with a life of its own, which fairly well
does describe its reality, belying the
fiction that pottering about in a garden 
results in a living demonstration of 
boundless nature's exquisite bounty. Yet it 
is nature at whose command the garden
tends itself to delight us. Should you by
chance or intention stroll up the
cobble pathway it will turn inward
toward our house branching within
a hidden refuge enclosed by a very
secret garden, one which admits none
but ourselves to breathe its divine scent
admire the landscape of our hidden
conceit, our Paradisiacal arras of the
senses, sensual and so privately ours.

 

Fall Farewell

Nature has a way of chastising the
prideful gardener, for when the garden
presents at the apex of its splendid glory
with overwhelming generosity of blooms
in colourful display of rainbow shades
so wonderful the blissful reaction you
experience on viewing the landscape
you feel has resulted from the skills
acquired over the years in arranging and
selecting, planting and nourishing
represent a well-earned accolade from
your inner self and you are pleased to
oblige. In her overwhelming wisdom to
her credit nature permits this conceit
though it is her handiwork and not yours
that prevails. And as the architect of all
that pleases you, she also decides when it
must be put aside in the introduction of
another of her seasons. Imposing upon you
the obligation of your ongoing tasks, this
time to disassemble all that you have
taken such pride in, by disposing of annuals
cutting back perennials, trimming shrubs
and composing all the plant waste that
provided you with countless hours of
work and undiluted satisfaction quite
aside from the beauty that surrounded you
at every turn ambling through your garden.

Calling It

Procrastination? Not at all, not one bit of it.
It's simply that practicalities must be
observed; for example timing schedules
and whether the weather cooperates, right?
We're talking yardwork, after all, not quite
gardening. It is the garden but this does not
equate with pleasure in particular, it is simply
work that must be done. In recognition of
the season coming to a close, you see, summer
giving way to fall. Shorter days, fewer sunlight
hours, cold nights and cooler days. Add to
that the fact that the plants in the garden have
worked so damnably hard all spring and
summer, they're in need of a break and this
is it, close on the horizon. They're spent, all
those roses, lilies and late-blooming beauties.
Just as one takes pride in a neat and clean
home, that pride is extended to the garden
which calls out to be tidied up. Admittedly
the springtime preparations enticing the
garden to break out of its winter embrace in
the frozen earth is a time of fun and discovery
when working in the garden represents pleasure.
That's gardening. Cleaning up in the fall not
so much. It's called yardwork for good reason.
So now we're faced with the fall focus on
ridding the garden of its spent flora. As it
happens those reasons to hesitate over going
at it are numerous. It's too hot yet, with a 
searing wind, to commit to that time-consuming
task. On the other hand there are days when
it's simply too cool and windy to finally urge
oneself to get out there and do it, finally. The
day will come, as it must, when it is not too
hot, nor too cool and time's a-wasting. Prod
yourself and go to it; not procrastination, no!