Are We the Lucky Ones?

4 comments

Whether it be a small flower plot, a productive vegetable patch or a verdant acre, who could deny that those of us who have a garden are among the fortunate ones.
Not shackled by the vagaries of circumstance within the mentally stifling confines of our homes, we can step out into fresh air and sunshine. There we can reap the benefits of keeping our hands and minds busy, by doing something we truly enjoy.
How soul destroying it would be to lose this liberty; the freedom to walk or simply amble quietly, and indulge in the many pleasures our gardens offer. The unique aroma of freshly turned soil, the cool touch of burgeoning young plants or new-mown grass. What can compete with the anticipation as our eager trowels prepare places for colourful summer bedding? Can we deny the immense feel-good factor of tending those trusty perennials, sturdy shrubs and plots of tasty vegetables?
In our gardens, our entire being is absorbed as we work or relax, listen and observe. We can sit and think, or simply sit, but there is always something new. Freshly opened buds, or patches of colour that surely weren’t there yesterday. We marvel at the incredible speed at which certain plants have grown, or puzzle over the inexplicable disappearance of something which you hoped to see again this year. We welcome the winged visitors that chirp and twitter, or buzz and hum, all in their own way appreciative of our efforts. All these give us food for thought.
Yes, we are the lucky ones. In these trying times we have a comparative freedom to enjoy nature as she reveals her new season’s wardrobe for our pleasure; and it is up to us to decide whether or not to accompany her on her journey.

---

Below I have added a little, as yet untitled, poetic observation of my own.

Diamond droplets hang from emerald leaves
As morning sun dispels dawn’s curling mists.
Cat homeward slinks round Hosta’s half-furled sails
While cunning spider deadly trapment weaves.

In night-chilled water robin blithely bathes
While blackbird trills and doves pay cooing court.
Stirred by a soft and swirling impish breeze
Sweet bluebells dance in pastel-coloured swathes.

Such precious fleeting moments soon are gone,
Yet in our grateful mem’ries linger on.

• 29 Apr, 2020
• 5 likes

More blog posts by bigbumblebee