My Secret Garden.

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from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

cactus

It was a rickety old stair case that led to my secret place far above the towering apartment buildings of our compound in southern China. The rusting metal framework with it’s shrouding of bamboo cutting off access had been beckoning me since my arrival.
Finally curiosity overcame my fears (no one would know, everyone was out). Grabbing a chair and with my mobile in my pocket (just incase) I climbed precariously. My legs barely able to straddle the bamboo scaffolding I grasped the iron rail and pulled myself over. Anxiety gripped me; would it still take my weight? Then I clambered upward.
What a sight met my eyes. Alone, neglected, a “garden” had bloomed. Some long gone owner had once stored things there (for there was no order) then, closing off the stairs, it had been abandoned forever – that is till I came. Towering cactus had bloomed from soil…

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Nature’s Gardens.

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mossy path
Like the Ents (Lord of the Rings) I favour natural gardens. Not for me neat beds of flowers, immaculately raked brown beds and mown lawns. While I admire their beauty my heart is captivated by the wild where seeds are planted at the hand of the wind, watered by soft rain and arranged in random pattern of perfection far more beautiful to my eye.
Bent or broken branches tell their stories, delicate morning glory flowers on nettles, fallen leaves and branches interweave with child plants reaching up their tender leaves to the sun. Early morning spider webs decked with dew decorate the bushes and frost sets her hand to deck the lowly grass in glory. Decay mottles old broken logs in fascinating patterns of grey and brown, each housing its tiny echo system of life within (in nature nothing is wasted).
Plants, seemingly random, interweave their properties nourishing and replenishing the soil, providing food and habitat, a wonder of the hand of God set in place at nature’s birth, a never ending cycle of life that only man can corrupt, swallowing up ancient cities and habitations reclaiming its territory as man moves on.
Who could want a garden planted by the hand of mere bundling mortals when the divine lies at hand?