A Moment in the Garden

It is early January. So early that days don’t seem to have names and times melts into nothingness. That delicious period of time when Christmas and new year celebrations have past and you settle into the days of nothing. You can’t recall what you did or when and there is a blissful feeling of contentment. It only occurs at this time of year and your mood will change as the week progresses. The itch to do something will return. Plans will slowly start to form in your mind. Hopefully you can leave this period of time when you want to and not when you have too.

I sit in the garden in handmade chairs under the olive tree. The olive tree stands in the lawn, planted when we first moved in. Planted with natively. It leans to the left a little too much, it’s trunk slopping due to gravity and a lack of support when it was younger. Part of me wants to straighten it make it look right, the other part of me acknowledges it as a rookie mistake and that I will know for next time. I long for the next time. The next garden.

There are bees in the olive tree foraging for food. It is a warm day that is on the verge of turning too hot. I can comfortably sit in the sun but time and heat will force me either inside or in the shade. The dogs for the moment can potter about. They get hot quickly and will head indoors when they have had enough. Occasionally one will stubbornly stay near me. Keeping me company.

The bees are everywhere and the garden literally hums. This is my favorite time to be in the garden as it feels like all the work, the growing, the planning, the planting has resulted in this moment. Everywhere I look I see a little bee bum, either honey or bumble. The amount of activity is fierce, a reflection of the warmth of the day.

I feel grateful that I can sit here and enjoy what is around me. As I write the keyboards on the computer get a dusting of pollen. Nature, as it should, is taking center stage at this moment and I am humbling observing. I am also learning. The bees tell what is their preference when it comes to foraging and I take note. Borage, lavenders and the new to me this season peach/golden Achillea. I want to plant more of that one.

The crimson Heuchera border with it’s stalk of white delicate flowerheads, no more than a dot, sway with bee movement. I love how while there is no wind flowers sway regardless. A bumble lands on a lavender flower head and the weight of the bee sends the head bobbling.

It is a peaceful moment.

Noises from neighbors change the tone. The sun is breaking through the clouds and I can feel it start to heat up on my skin. The dog runs to the gate in anticipation of someone walking past. No one walks past, it is just a car parking across the road.

More pollen falls on the computer from the olive tree. The hum from bees continues. I yawn and feel the moment beginning to change. The deliciousness of the sun begins to become slightly oppressive. It will be too hot soon. I will go indoors. The images of the garden will continue to dance in my head and when, later in the day, the light is softer I will aim to return, camera in hand and try and capture what I saw just now.

The garden will be different then and the camera will capture a different mood. Just as these words capture it all in a different way to how I feel. Regardless the bees will keep on doing their thing. My garden is a place for feasting. I love this thought.

My mind has wandered too far for peace. The dog, momentarily inside, charges outside for whatever purpose. The birds fly off the lawn. Their peace disrupted. There is still pollen on the keyboard and splash on the screen. I leave it, an indoor-outdoor reminder of this moment when I next open the computer and my mind can drift back to this moment, to the sounds of bees in the olive tree and the warmth of the sun. The little chatter from the birds and the sway of the flower heads.

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