I’m not a gardener. But I have a garden, that frequently threatens to overwhelm me with the need it has for attention. I occasionally get out there for short frenetic bursts and today was a good day for doing so – feeling full of frustration, loneliness and disappointment. The weeds are not delicate shoots coming up between carefully sown plants. It’s not that kind of garden. The weeds are predominantly vast swathes of long-dead long grass, and last year’s ferns, covering bulbs that miraculously attempt to regrow in spite of everything. So I don’t have to tenderly thin things out, I get to grab fistfuls of yellowing stuff, and pull. The results (as long as I only look at small sections at once) are satisfying in that I can fill the wheelie bin quite quickly. I have to take a bit of care tho. There may be undiscovered shit. Or painful thorns.
And so of course I see the metaphors. I need to pay more attention to clearing away the old stuff, cos otherwise the new stuff doesn’t stand much chance of blossoming cos it just can’t breathe, even tho it’s having a good job at germinating without any help from me. But maybe I can slow down at trying to get it all up at once, cos there are hidden nasties that need specialist attention – thicker gloves or a dog poo bag. I’ll stop with the metaphors now…
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