I’m no gardener, but I’m forever thinking about my garden. I now live in a house where I have planned different types of gardens in small isolated pockets. My vision is yet to come to fruition, but thinking about this, is a happy place to be.
When I was married my husband and I were constantly at odds with how the garden should look. Forward thinking for the time, he was insistent on a garden with native trees and shrubs as they are plants that require little maintenance and water. I, on the other hand, wanted an English garden with lavender, roses, geraniums, hydrangeas, and cottage plants. He indulged my love for this to a point. When my marriage ended I had a hedge of 14 white iceberg roses that bloomed incessantly with thousands of flowers. Far from being a reminder of him, they served to remind me he had worked hard outdoors so I could enjoy the view. It was a memory worth keeping so I continued to keep it alive with more flowers. The only time I can remember gardening, is when I decided to turn the upper level into a white garden and that space had only white flowers of all kinds. I wish I had taken pictures. It was beautiful. I looked forward to my alone times in the white garden. I shed all my other roles when I was here except one, student. On reflection, it was a space where I gave my body breath each day and where I created a new life.
I moved from that space, in more ways than one and found a world of colour. I was fortunate to find this in a lifestyle that meets all my needs. Each day I work towards that life, one that strengthens the core of me. I make sure I stop each day for a few minutes. I now see colour and detail. Yellow everlasting flowers growing roadside in the Wheatbelt.or growing side by side with blue leschenaultia in dry, gravel soil.The beautiful velvety native purple flowers on grey foliage that look extremely ordinary from a distance. But close up? You be the judge.These interesting flowers are tiny and waxy. I’ve seen creamy lemon ones in the Goldfields. They glisten in the sun like dew. Up close, they are delicate and finely veined, like aged hands. I’ve seen hundreds and thousands of these, but this time, I saw one in bloom. Exquisite.Then there are the tiny everlastings that glow like embers, along the ground.The beautiful spears of grevillea that grow wild everywhere.Or these mops of orange.and blue.The delicate intricacy of the cone flower.And tiny, tiny, butter yellow blooms.I still find white flowers joyful.
They remind me how far I’ve come.
Until next time
a dawn bird