Oh how the garden grows…
Walking down the track into a dream, the bog cotton waving
at me; I stand atop the hill, looking out across the still and silent sea. The
bracken is big now, unfurling with all its might – a luminous green that only
comes with spring. The leaves of the Aspen are in full power, the bed of
self-seeded delights have turned into a jungle of greens to eat, the grapes in
their infancy fascinate me and how tall the sweetcorn grows! The Asparagus too,
I could watch it stretch, the potatoes, raspberries, salad crops, apple blossom
and rhubarb. The kale and the chard, turnips and beets, the strawberries are
ready to eat! Fresh herbs from the herb canoe and a sea of sunflowers – I could
sit for hours and watch the garden grow, the birds bouncing from branch to
branch, the Adders curl in the sun, the tidal ebb and flow and the chickens
mischievous charm. The bees come for the borage, as do I. Infinite pickings of
nettles and ‘weeds’ from the sea and ground, sorrel is my favourite zesty treat
to find on forage. A gift freely given,
food for foods sake. Beauty for beauties sake. I could sit for hours and watch
the garden grow. Watch how the light moves across the rocks at the round house,
how the rowan leaves turn with the moving sun, how the infant trees made quickly
small by the increasingly tall bracken, one day it will be reverse. The willow
dome is complete now, a secret to retreat to and look out from within the
leaves. The baby apple trees are flowering too and that pine we cut has its use.
We sit on the logs around the fire, telling stories united by our mandala. I
could sit for hours…
