Worked in the garden for a couple of hours today. The hot summer and my aching back kept me from regular tasks for quite a while, but Autumn is kinder. The weather and my back seem to have reached some kind of compromise, and I can work, if I'm careful. I'm grateful for the beautiful flowers I enjoyed this season, despite the proliferation of weeds that threatened to choke them and me.
Autumn gardening tasks are mostly cleaning up and moving plants to new locations in hopes of better outcomes. And there is always the ritual of saying good-bye to annuals and the faint hearted who did not last the summer. I feel a special kinship with those.
While I garden I think, philosophize, and pray. I think about writing. You know, of all the thoughts that crowded my head out there, none seem very original now. Gardeners know what I mean, and others have probably read or heard about the Tau of Nature a million times.Beauty fades - yeah, like we don't look in the mirror everyday.
I think I'll just say that Autumn tasks are so reassuring. The tidying up gives the impression of readiness: readiness for winter winds and storm, but also readiness to receive the seeds scattered by the winds, and readiness in the sense of fertility. Rich, dark, secret soil ready to produce.
And thats the most reassuring part for me. The garden is alive with deep, thriving roots; burrowing worms; dormant seeds; sprouting bulbs; tight buds on dogwoods, and so much more. It's not dead: it's just ready and waiting. That's what I love about the winter that follows. It is the necessary cold that brings all this to proliferation in good old, easy-to-love spring.
Here's a quote, that I like:
Well, I can't wait. Inner things are already beginning to happen as I scoot around on my butt in the dirt and look up at the sky. Soon the yellow moon, still impressively large, will rise, and all will be as it should be. Thank you. Thank you. I'm just so grateful.
BTW, word nuts, I capitalize Autumn because it is my favorite season and deserves the recognition.
Autumn gardening tasks are mostly cleaning up and moving plants to new locations in hopes of better outcomes. And there is always the ritual of saying good-bye to annuals and the faint hearted who did not last the summer. I feel a special kinship with those.
While I garden I think, philosophize, and pray. I think about writing. You know, of all the thoughts that crowded my head out there, none seem very original now. Gardeners know what I mean, and others have probably read or heard about the Tau of Nature a million times.Beauty fades - yeah, like we don't look in the mirror everyday.
I think I'll just say that Autumn tasks are so reassuring. The tidying up gives the impression of readiness: readiness for winter winds and storm, but also readiness to receive the seeds scattered by the winds, and readiness in the sense of fertility. Rich, dark, secret soil ready to produce.
And thats the most reassuring part for me. The garden is alive with deep, thriving roots; burrowing worms; dormant seeds; sprouting bulbs; tight buds on dogwoods, and so much more. It's not dead: it's just ready and waiting. That's what I love about the winter that follows. It is the necessary cold that brings all this to proliferation in good old, easy-to-love spring.
Here's a quote, that I like:
"In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature." - Edna O'Brien, Irish Novelist
Well, I can't wait. Inner things are already beginning to happen as I scoot around on my butt in the dirt and look up at the sky. Soon the yellow moon, still impressively large, will rise, and all will be as it should be. Thank you. Thank you. I'm just so grateful.
BTW, word nuts, I capitalize Autumn because it is my favorite season and deserves the recognition.