gardens, suns, nonsense

I am nearly thorough this incredibly thick brush.

When you build a garden, you maybe throw down some seeds.  Here.  There.  A little later you probably turn on a hose.  There might be a plant or two that you really spend time on.  A growth you label.  Some ground that lies in your mind and backyard as iconic, a pick, a particular section of life that you draw intentions around.

It doesn’t surprise you when this part grows.  You fawn it with your fingers and with your time.  And around this will grow the casual other of weeds and good greens.  Some more water, some more sun, some more seeds.  Bit by bit is how the spaces get filled.

Of course you’re too busy with your focus to see before you what fills your every step.

After a time, the time comes to move to a new home.  Or put in a pool. It’s ok.  You built this.  You can take it down.  But the roots.  The little bits that you took years to scatter about have thickened beyond your scope.  They’ve grown strong in their place in you.

Pulling the old seedlings one at a time kills you each of the times.  The work involved seems to never cease.  Weeks, months to brown a corner of the green.  One small corner.  All your free time to find the soil you need for your barbeque.  For your kids to play.  For a place to sit.  Or even for the pool you’ll spend the next 20 years maintaining for the sake of the fall leaves and the fences what keep the kids away.

It’s just incredible how much work it is undoing the work you’ve done.

And what blisters even more is the mantra you used to hum while planting: that you never wanted to make a garden, you just threw the seeds down because you had the dirt and it made sense to use it.

A will-less walkabout in quicksand.

Like pulling the push door, thinking it might not change for you or it might but here’s as good a spot as any.

It’s the same logic I had the other day while nestled between buildings.  Waiting for a friend in the early hours of the day I was surprised by the sun.  It seemed to be coming from the wrong place.  Wedged inbetween concrete towers, I played detective, using my reasoning and logic to confirm this twisted phenomenon.  At some point or another I indeed confirmed the sun was wrong.  Rising in the west.  Setting in the east that day.

And instead of tearing my eyeballs out and running for the hills, instead of hugging the construction men next to me and telling them they will be home soon I shrugged my shoulders and ate some more cranberry scone.

Superhero training school: Fail.

Of course I was facing south instead of north.  Stupid.  But my own degrees of perspective took no part of the revolutionary path before me.  That’s another post though.

Finding an impossible pass and paying the fee, getting on board anyway.  Such a crazy logic.

Hey Graham!  The past 6 years of your business make no sense.  Table for one?

 

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