If you look it up, there is no real synonym for the heart, no one word that means quite the same thing.
… gardens can be a place to escape to, someone’s own magical world they create all for themselves.
I dove right in to the challenge the house and those gardens presented. And the love of it all spread and thrived inside me.
Nature has its own ideas of freedom, too. Whether you live in the suburbs or on a farm, a quiet battle is continually underway, a fight to keep the wild things at bay…
The inner workings of the peony flower remind me of the ocean floor. I have snorkeled along reefs and seen the bright, silent landscape of that other world. Strange to find on land something so akin to the exotic coral or billowy anemones living deep underwater…
Last year I was sure it was dead. But this spring new growth appeared on it’s meager remaining stems, and then the heads of two small buds followed…
Every year I flip flop back and forth between loving spring or autumn more. They are rivals to me, both equally glorious in their own way, two beautiful sides of a single coin. As a gardener, writer and photographer, I always feel like I can’t quite make up my mind… […]
I always feel a renewed sense of purpose, of my place in the spring time. My feelings of belonging, of knowing where I am and who I am in this world grow strong again. For me, the soil is a sort of sacred place, not frightening or filthy or just an empty […]
Spreading by seed, the winds blow their tiny offerings far and wide. So much so they can eventually cover acres, given enough time. But like most good things they don’t last long.
A photograph or story or poem can be crafted, controlled, tweaked to the artist’s particular desires. At some point you can be done, content with a finished piece or product. But a garden has a mind of its own.