Sunday morning

just pottering

Eos zips passed with controlled speed. A warning barking follows at something that she feels needs her urgent focus. Her grumblings echo around the garden disrupting the peace that previously was only interrupted by squabbling tuis dart flying across the lawn chasing each other in some sort of ritual. I sit on the step, and watch Atlas observing everything in a silence only he knows. He hears none of this and I wonder if he misses the chatter of daily life or prefers the peace of the deafness he now knows. The sun is slowly rising from behind the hills across the valley and I cherish it’s warmth the same way I cherish the warmth of my slippers on my feet and the cup of tea in my hand.

The garden seems dull and wet and heavy. A winter feeling that I can relate too. Things are so still it feels like such a huge impossibility that anything would ever grow here but if I look hard enough I see little signs. Nubs of bulbs are starting to appear from the planting I did in late Autumn. An Anemone still shines on despite being battered by biting cold winds days earlier. I kinda like the worn edges on her petals. Her beauty feels earned. In the garden nestled by the bee hive is a collection of bright pink poppies that stand so upright and sure that I can only admire their righteous energy. Each day more hellebore emerge. The hollyhocks which I shall move to the dahlia patch still have pops of bright pink flowers which feels like an oddity. Who knew bright pink would be the colour contrast of winter.

Not everything grows. The salvia I moved stand ashen and grey. I mutter to myself about my inept gardening skills and then hope maybe if I trim them back some growth might occur. A little treasures whose name I have forget but will remember when it flowers is looking battered. It sits in a corner sharply taken by dog feet as they race around the garden. I hope it is stubborn enough to survive. I watch wax eyes nibbling on the remaining crab apples or perhaps it is small insects they seek. I see worn grass and think of plans for the spring of the work I should do to evolve the garden once more. This year I will get everything finished that I want to do I say to myself, forgetting that the same words were spoken to self last year.

Prior to all this observation I had been working in the garden, starting early on a Sunday morning which felt almost too early to be gardening for winter. The sun had not yet hit the table where I worked, the air and light around me felt dull. Bulbs that had been sitting in the fridge were planted in pots in a haphazard manner - I wonder who will grow and if they colour combo will be suitable. I smile at the mystery of it all and knowing the delight to come when they flower. Ranunculus are planted in pots and the lemon and lime trees are weeded and straightened. The weight of fruit sees them bend. I plant some pansy underneath just to see what happens. I trim back a few things absentmindedly and think of the coming months, of wishing for more time and warmth so that I can really get in and really start to tidy up but for the moment a gently potter in the warming day seems like enough.

With much love

Mel