The past few days have been changeable. We had a little sun but lots of rain and grey skies. How surprised I was, then to see the poppies out this morning. When do they unfurl, I wonder, in the dark night even if rain is falling? That yellow columbine is a newcomer as is the pink rose. Both were only planted last fall. I almost pulled out the columbine as a weed, a fate which befell a magnificent poppy a few years ago. It is sad to say goodbye to the lovely irises. They don’t stand up well to rain, but we have to remember that many flowers love cool wet weather and so we gardeners get our little rewards even if we can’t always sit out and welcome in the newcomers. They just appear as I am wondering if it is safe to hang out washing, or just as I sweep up the seedlings or disturb the stray cats who seem to have developed a great fondness for a particular folding chair. The rusty black cat with the crooked tail has certainly sat there more than I have. Good luck to him. Maybe it’s he who calls out the new blooms.
Today the first snow
At first sight a gasp of surprise, the white
Joy at the change of season
Change that is so hard to love and to accept
Yesterday, caring for the garden
One of the last days of autumn sun
The leaves raked and bagged
Looking around the garden at plants still valiant
Green, even blooming
Heedless of the snow to come that night
For my winter tomorrows
I noticed and put away
For long days
Of cold, snow, sleet, darkness
The buds of lilac ready to bloom
Being busy means drawing from the pace, from the combat, from the solution of “problems”, one’s personhood. Being “busy” is drawing from victory, from juicy frustrations, even from the ineptitude of others, a certain satisfaction.how satisfying it is to know, sincerely and without boasting, without ego, that you are cleverer, more effective than many others! And because of that you take on more and more difficult challenges. That makes you ” busy”. Being “busy” becomes a habit, perhaps more, a compulsion. The busyness starts when you open your eyes and ends when you fall totally exhausted into bed. But often the busy mind wants to keep on being busy even in the dark bedroom with the leaves of the trees fluttering at the window. So, the act of falling asleep becomes a “task” too.
Is is possible to renounce being “busy”. Can one simply breathe, allow the body, the poor body, so neglected and dominated by the busy busy mind, to become heavy in the clean sheets and to sink into sweet uninterrupted sleep? Is it possible to sit quietly in the garden without tidying up files, or weeding, or writing a blog? One could try.
This is a hard form so. . . just so you know, it has to be in five stressed syllables to a line (iambic pentameter) . It has to have 14 lines, the last 2 being a couplet that sums things up and the other lines have to be three four-line sections . The first 4lines set out the theme, second four lines expand and third four lines bring in an objection or problem. Oh, the rhymes have to go like this:abab. cdcd. efef. And then the end couplet gg. Got it? Good! Of course mine is about the garden and. A bit of a fight I had with a guy about noise yesterday. Only I couldn’t think of a rhyme for “heat pump”.
I sit beneath the shade of early leaves
A bower in my garden on the lane
The coloured blossoms and the sweet scent weaves
A spell that keeps me bound, for here I reign.
Enclosed and claimed as mine. Here I am queen
The life of each dear flower gives me grace
You may not criticize or intervene
But, take a glass of wine -or an embrace.
But nothing is eternal, that I know
Heaven at siege, the war is well begun.
The city’s press, a neighbor’s radio
A little more and beauty is undone.
The little English garden, love it as I do
So it can stand each year and bloom anew.