The daffs are still hanging on in there despite me spending a lot of time in
recently. Some of the smaller plants have suffered from not being watered, but
the summer bulbs seem to be coming through and there’s plenty going on in my
magic garden. Of course it’s only a small magic, but then it’s only a small
garden and four walls do not a prison make. You can do a lot with walls, they are an opportunity not a limitation. They
are like blank canvasses needing decoration, galleries awaiting art.
Yes my garden is small, but even so I think I’ve managed to create a bit of peace full of interesting questions and I like nothing better than to sit out in it on a sunny morning. I’m sitting in it now listening to the little fountain in the pond and to the insects buzz among the flowers. If I try I can ignore the planes overhead and the call of the builders down the road. It’s my small world of tranquility and I know every inch of it. Sometimes it makes me feel like God, a small insignificant garden god; like my red Buddha on the miniature mountain climbing the wall by the pond.
It’s a place full of quirks, eccentricity and spells, of stone cats and pottery hares, psychedelic snails, rocks and pebbles, bits of driftwood hanging from the walls, old hanging lucky horseshoes, moons and hearts, time-caught butterflies, piles of deceased snail shells, bird boxes without the hope of a nesting bird, silly faced frogs, hidden gnomes, rusting keys, and my friendly single silent fish. But most of all there is peace. Peace and love and fun.
I guess you’ve guessed? I love and am delighted my garden.