The Doing
I weeded in the garden yesterday. It was satisfying. I’ll do more today. The rains came. The dirt is soft. The air is cool as well, and that’s good, too. I’m in the mood. The mood. The garden mood. I’m enlarging the garden beneath the big oaks. Taking up yard to grow plants, because that’s what should grow beneath big trees, plants. Plants that enrich the soil. Plants that make a community.
I have trimming to do as well. The yaupon holly is showing it’s age, plus the oaks and crape myrtles around it, which once were young and short, are now older and tall. So, sunlight is at a premium. Unsupported branches die. It’s the way of the garden. Where once there was light there is now shade. There are different grasses, different covers, different life.
I think the work will continue well into the fall. I’m going to move some bulbs, too. They’ll go out beneath the big oaks. It seems to be good ground for the last bulbs I moved. The earth is rich and soft and there’s a fair sun. We’ll see. That’s the pleasure. Doing, waiting, seeing. And not everything works, either. But you keep trying. Putting a word here, putting a word there, planting, looking for sun, looking for rain, looking for the flower. The bloom. The bit of color against the green that makes the heart beat fast, giving extra pleasure to the doing.