I enjoy gardens. The scent of green grass beneath feet, the abruptness of bursting shrubs as insects flit and birds gather, children play; being surprised by shape, colour, space; the wonder of life and enjoyment of creation.
In making gardens; I don’t mind a bit of early planning and digging and shifting - the pleasure of hard work, muscles aching, sweat creation. But I can’t be bothered with the fiddly stuff, picking weeds, trimming borders, fussing over the minutia of exactly which plant pot should be where. I’d rather scatter seed than individually plant each one, I’ll happily leave such labour for someone else but enjoy the end product.
I love to feel rainfall soaking into the ground, making love, running across footpaths, conceiving streams, refreshing plant-life, giving birth. I love the tingle of electricity in the air, the crack and the boom, warm rain cascading in torrents. Yet I can feel the sadness of a dull drizzly, keep-in, stay warm day - there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.
I love to feel the sun warming the earth, steam rising to be carried on the breeze, bare feet on hot grass, bird song and insect hum, warmth against pale skin. The freshness of morning, the glow of lazy evening. Yet when the sun burns hot in the day, I hide in the shade and wish for rain.
I love to watch a river flow towards the sea. It is the residue of rainfall, the run away, the soaked earth’s surplus. Giving life to unseen plants and creatures below it’s flowing surface. I guess some will be snared to appear from my tap, whilst much will replenish the sea before being captured by the sun and returned as rainfall - nothing wasted, nothing unneeded, ever flowing cycle of creation and re-creation means I can enjoy this garden on a cool damp April day.