1 June 2012
From my window I see the garden and the community there.
The hawthorn and bramble carefully compare thorns. Notes on thorn-care and preventing breakage are shared.
Grass pokes smartly up from the ground beneath them, standing to attention and putting the lounging weeds to shame (if they had any).
An Oak with it's ancient wrinkles and crinkles grumbles about the damp, it's leaves rustling like dry paper in the wind. The millions of insects who make their home in it are grateful for it's age, the deepening crevices make wonderful homes.
Against the wall the honeysuckle and the vine who love each other, strain to cover the distance between them, millimetre by millimetre.
The new plants young and keen settle in, introduce themselves to each other and getting their bearings. A kindly shrubs points out the friendlier plants to them- and the ones to avoid.
In a tub set apart, thyme and mint congratulate each other and themselves on their respective attractive smells and general usefulness. The Rose and Peony nearby ignore them, safe in the knowledge that nobody takes thyme or mint to a wedding.
Most plants view the birds suspiciously, thinking of their inherent flightiness. All that moving about and so little calm contemplation. Some however make an uneasy alliance, knowing they rely on the birds to carry away their children to a new life.
Mostly there is calm- last year a nasty war between some nettles and the rhubarbs broke out, but that was settled over winter.
There are bees at work now, the gossips of the garden, carrying news and nectar across the breadth of the community. (Apparently, after some late nights, the tomato plants have got whitefly).
Different every day, changing every season, all life is there to see- if you look. I look.
Garden Tales • Opuss № I