Monday, 25 June 2012

Our front garden

During a silent morning yesterday I was reflecting on our front garden, because although we apparently created it to our own wishes, many of the neighbours have commented on how beautiful it looks, and it seems to give them a lot of pleasure, which I think is wonderful!
I wrote this poem about it yesterday.

The flowers of the Cherry blossom have already come and gone.
Seedheads are all that is left of the Aquilegia.
Rain has bent the Foxgloves and they flop in an ungainly manner.
The Lupins are part-purple and part-seed;
the ones in the back garden are festooned with greenfly and have all been eaten.
The Weigela flowers are non-existent now
and the plumpening seedheads are all that remain of the beautiful Irises.
Is there a moment when the garden is in the prime of perfection?

The anticipation of flowering in the Spring led to a brief flurry of colour,
and sun and rain produced a profusion of growth,
and some unidentifiable weeds, that appear like magic overnight.
Yet there is so much more to the garden than the brief splash of colour the flowers gave.
The elegance of the Cherry tree lends support to the climbing Clematis, yet to flower.
The darkened leaves of the Copper Beech offer a contrasting background to the greenery.
And the dancing ladies of the Fuchsia are yet to appear.
Is there a moment when the garden is in the prime of perfection?

The evolving, changing and growing garden continues to delight and amaze.
Forgotten Poppies suddenly announce themselves.
Small heads of Jacob's Ladder add a touch of whiteness,
and the tall purple-headed spikes,
that continue to perplex us whether or not they are weeds
are just beginning to emerge.
They keep their place because they are purple!

The perfection of the garden is in each moment
of looking deeply
and delight in what seed, sun, rain, wind and a little cultivation can produce.
Next year it will be completely different.

© 6 July 2012

I find it very helpful to recognise and accept the ever-changingness of the garden, there is never a moment when it is complete, it is always evolving. After the flowering comes the all-important seed-producing for next year, and the creation of compost from which something new will emerge. Accept the beauty of the moment without regretting what has past, or longing for what is to come :)

1 comment:

  1. My therapist used to tell me don't keep striving for finished, accept finished for now. A garden is as you say a nice way to remind myself of this, so thank you and your garden does look lovely by the way. :)