The garden dwarfs me. Everything has grown so tall my neighbors never know if i’m outside or not. They simply cannot see me. I sometimes think of myself as being a living, breathing garden gnome.
The Milk Weed, the New England Asters, the Black Eyed Susans and the Climbing Roses are all much taller than I am. The Jerusalem Artichokes are taller than even my tallest neighbor as is the Joe Pie Weed.
There’s nothing I find more pleasant than to sit on my swing surrounded by all this prolific vegetation and just absorb the green energy. The garden itself is home to the creative force of life itself.
I can sense the personification of creative spirit hovering in the very air around me in all this exuberant profusion of green fire lives the very essence of the miracle that is life.
Fools offer explanations. Wise men know that any explanation we offer fall short of the reality sitting here looking out from my window I’m seeing a mass of color and texture no artist however skilled could ever emulate.
This is no staid formal garden. It is a garden where nature herself has been given full rein to design her own masterpiece with very little assistance from me. and the ever evolving results are awe inspiring to say the least and far more awesome than any human architect could ever design. Bees and butterflies and cicadas and birds all call this garden home and so do I.