Saturday, July 1, 2017

Doing nothing

The pale sky is wearisome as it trundles its load of clouds to the end of the road.  Somewhere in the garden the moss roses are playing red, yellow, white, pink and salmon coloured games in the pots. The potatoes have flipped from dying into life as the tubers that were encrusted with small outgrowths found light and decided to climb that rope of light out of the darkness of dirt to make a new beginning.

The day is fertile with promise and there is hope of rain to splash against the green growth of the potato tubers that were planted in the area of a former ant colony.  Most of the day is gone but it is peaceful to do nothing. I sometimes can do nothing for more than hours and hours to whole days and months.

Recently the white peony decided to tumble her petals in the clothes dryer of the wind and become dry heads of seed. I took a minute or so this morning to wear my yellow garden gloves and a new pair of garden shears to chop off the heads of the peony seeds so that the plant would not waste her time making seeds that won't be used to make new peonies. Instead, I let the plant stay virginal and all the heads are removed cleanly although ants still climb the beheaded stems seeking what they will not find much like we do in our eternal quest for glory on shopping trips.

The mishmash of plants in the flower beds deeply satisfies. Even though the garden once had a civilized plan and was working towards coherence, like a metastatic cancer the ropy limbs of the peonies are flopping on the Bergenia breasts, the silver slippers of the olive tree's last supper are everywhere and the ferns have decided to make a porridge of plants wherever there is shade. It's best to leave them to their own design decisions. I can't be bothered now to trample here and there like a map maker looking for the garden path that I had before it got covered with onion starts, Oriental poppies and delphiniums. Instead I am going to stay inside while the crab grass takes root in the back garden by the golden raspberries.

Soon I will go down and sit on the sofa and do more of this doing nothing business. It's a good habit that results in writing of the meandering sort and one day I will make a book of such nonsense and self publish it so that yet another bucket list item can be crossed off to say that I was once here and did these silly self important things.

Younger boy is finally up and has made his own path to the breakfast-lunch meal.  My dad has been phoning for garden support but it is no use clamouring for younger boy to help when he is sleeping because his brain on animation needs the extra sleep.

I will go make a cup of tea. Doing nothing is exhausting and maybe a cup of tea will revive me.

http://www.symbolicliving.com/2014/01/art-armen-gasparyan.html




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