Wednesday, August 1, 2012

August 1, 2012

I love my garden. I am writing in it now—computer on my lap; being delightfully interrupted by the whoosh’s of fat bumblebees around the clumps of white phlox below the kitchen window and the inducement to pause and just drink in all the glories surrounding me.

I am always happy here; even on the hottest days of summer. Despite drought and weeks of blazing, cloudless heat, and even if my garden is surrounded by large imposing houses on every corner, I can't think of a better place to be or time quite so perfectly spent.

I always dream of a garden surrounded by luxuriant cornfields and meadows brimming with bluebells, and beyond a pine forest, beautifully carpeted in moss starred with flowers and tall pines and lofty ferns, and everywhere the breathless silence. But it is not wise to dwell in what you don't have while being indifferent to all the blessedness around you. So I’m most grateful for what I have and what we’ve been able to accomplish in our little world of a garden despite whatever nuisances.

A soft summer breeze is running through the garden; playing with the gypsy veils I’d tucked round the big umbrella... I love the wispiness and cheerful colors of the veils. The yellow one is adorned in sequins, and it is like some type of jewels making little stars on the table as light and breezes play with them.

I’m content with simple joys, and I must confess I’m quite alright being all alone here with only the company of the birds and happy flowers and roses. Oh the roses. They had a rough time awhile back and had to be cut down more than I'd liked; but they are back again. Ever so faithful; putting new strong shoots and healthy green leaves. The garden seems to be singing...

A swarm of wasps whizzed by so close to me the other day as I was working in the garden. Ripples of super hot weather have brought them in, and they’re everywhere. They follow me around with such loud hum; whizzing and zooming ‘round my hair. They’re everywhere these days, and like to build their dainty wasp houses in dainty bird houses. The Man called "Peter Pan" says they are good for nothing creatures and should be killed. I wish the poor things would not have to go out of this world in such sad fashion and would enjoy all the glories this garden have to offer, but killed they’ve been. Each little entrance of each tiny lovely wasp homes has been sprayed with strong fumes. It was sad seeing them wasps coming out of their refuge one by one— like little drunken men coming out of their bars.

I feel so absolutely happy, and blest, that I can hardly describe my feelings. My days seemed to melt away in a dream of colorful peace.

No comments:

Post a Comment