I often wonder how much my garden is a representation of myself. Perhaps it reflects those I care about the most or characteristics that I enjoy drawing around me. We create gardens to wrap around our homes, to comfort, protect and allow us to escape from the outside world. My feeling is that anything that one creates captures some part of the creator, but perhaps the real point of a garden is the fantasy that will let us see what we want to see in any mood.
As I wander around my garden during a break in the midsummer rain, I begin to notice details that I have never seen before. Personalities appear to me from the foliage like old friends that are dear to me and whose company is always comfortable. They are an eclectic bunch.
The wisteria over the front arch is an eccentric old professor, hair sticking out in all directions in defiance of absent-minded attempts at control and he leans slightly to one side as if pondering a thought.
My red rose mourns quietly in sorrow after the rain.
Shy leaves of the forest pansy curl back in on themselves and hide as the rain comes. When the sun returns they will begin to open up but it is only when Autumn falls and the extroverts of Summer retire that they will stand alone and show their true, magnificent colours.
From among the branches of my knife-leaved wattle, I am somehow reminded of an old kaleidoscope my nanna had that I loved as a child. The angular leaves are unusual and precious in my garden, and the texture and variation it provides still delights me.
I’ll leave you with one last flower that attracted my attention on this evening’s walk. A lone, pure white flower remained on the top of an agapanthus. The other flowers have withered and begun to form seed, but this single beauty stands alone and keeps last watch over her sisters.