Friday, August 10, 2012

August 10, 2012

The Shasta daisies have decided they like it on the floor, and had taken half the pathway to the garden’s entrance.

I love the freshness and sultriness of Shasta daisies. Even after they’ve been trimmed off and put in the trash, they still look lovely to me…

And then, there are the climbing roses. From one day to the next they have grown unsullied wild shoots, and the garden has taken the appearance of an adorable unruly little patch.

And there are the vines too—all those grape vines growing in every corner of the garden. Vines are a creepy thing. I just love them. I’ve always sense a mysterious meaning in vines. Perhaps it’s the deep green what enthralls me? Or maybe it’s the association with mysterious secluded places; such as abandoned castles and deep shaded forest, or maybe it’s just the way they have of reaching out to things; clinging almost in the air... leaves, fruit clusters, flowers, shoots, canes and tendrils coiling around fences and objects; bestowing this sense of arms and hands and fingers... a living thing, indeed.

I am almost certain that the grapevine covering my back porch knows me, and even rejoices when it sees me... when I pass by it, it stirs and moves and stretches out its thin arms to touch me and even grab my hair... I can almost hear it laughing at me at times.

I love this mysterious lushness that grape vine possess. If you look around my garden you’ll find many a vine posing as living screens or as a wall or even a roof. They have so much to offer. They get huge round August, and have barricaded the back porch, making it feels dark and cozy and a perfect place to sit, relax and dream summer dreams...

We're sleeping out in the garden a lot this summer; under the grapevine covered porch. Darkness descends slowly upon the garden and with the last light cometh the enthralling call of night creatures. Choruses of crickets down the garden path initiate the extravaganza; filling the night air with wonder and magic. From our improvised bed in the porch, I can see the moon amidst tree branches gliding the night sky ever so enchantingly—a queen amongst zillions of shinny maidens.

The other night, right after we had settled down and everything got quiet, to my left ear came the sudden music of a lonesome cricket-singer. Hiding amidst the big leaves of the grapevine he sang his lovely tunes until the Man, having no conscience for such things decided he had enough of it, got up, and went looking for the poor creature round each corner; for sleep would not come to him; being serenaded as we were by such unaccustomed melodies.

I laughed secretly when he came back to our bed grumbling something… glad to hear the cricket had won and, retaking its position, soon lulled me to sweet unconsciousness with a most enchanting tune. Truly magical.

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