Even if I neglect my garden disgracefully it goes on with its own heedless life. I am just a visitor here. What do I have to do with the persistent teeming life that proceeds with or without my presence. My part is to try to control, to clip , to weed, to fertilize and water. Nature doesn’t want to be controlled or modified except by its own rules, it’s own needs. There is much beauty in this uncontrolled growth, blooming, decay. Weeds that entwine like convolvulus or deadly nightshade clamber over my clematis. The hollyhocks outgrow their supports and bend to the ground. Insects munch on the rose leaves and my poor lilies are almost stripped of their leaves by red lily beetles. But the whole place thrives somehow. It becomes more beautiful and mysterious. My little city garden when left to itself shows my the folly of my illusion of control. Like a naughty teenager I love it all the more and find it all the more beautiful.