picture perfectly legible labels naming perfectly comfortable plants, in
perfectly weeded beds.
Moonlight assists such an
ambition. Under its shadows I peered over the garden fence last
night. There in monochrome the raggedness and discord associated
with end of season was very apparent. And under moonlight it is
always easier to make those promises that fall within 'creative is'.
Indeed I have given the garden shape and form. It has edges, and
paths, and fences and all those things that a zoo has before the animals
arrive. Then when the animals arrive people point at them, throw the
odd peanut. And when the animals die their bodies are removed to who
But in my mind the vegetable garden is a
place unto itself. In other words I cannot be its creator.
Rather those things that have made it are reflections of my relationship
with a wanting, and in that wanting there are places that emerge sometimes
as empty. And this especially as winter approaches.
Next year the vegetable garden will
respond I hope to philosophical change. It will not be so much a place
of work and plenty as it will be a place of variety and comprehension.
A redefinition, I suppose. A
renewal of purpose I suppose. One of those wants that springtime might
fill. And I am always reminded how much a child of the equator I am,
by those who see purpose in seasons.