A walk in the gardens

You have spent your whole life with elegant speeches.
For sometime you should walk alone in the gardens of silence.

~ Rumi

I sort of stumbled into the Victorian era Public Gardens last week. It was the first post-tropical storm day here in Halifax. The rain had not yet swooped in and the temperature was balmy. A lot of leaves remained on the trees and everything had a glow to it against the grey sky.

The moisture in the air made everything slick and alive, but the rot had set in. The next day the rains swept up the coast and by now the rain and wind together have removed a lot of those falling leaves.

It was a good reminder of all the beauty in the garden. Beauty can found there not just when the buds are emerging, not just when the blossoms are burgeoning, not just when the trees are umbrellas of leaves. It can be found in the shiny rotting leaf and the promise of new growth next year. Oh yeah, spring and summer do not have the copyright on beauty and growth and vividness.

Comments

I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

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Growing Versions

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