Flowers – they’re everywhere, in glorious profusion…the thought of them distracts me when I’m driving, when I’m walking, and when I’m shopping, pulling my eye away from the mundane fruits and vegetables to the burgeoning blossoms in the garden center attached to my favorite market.
I have two new garden areas at my house, one started last year, and so this spring is in its first real flower. The other is a brand new space, 40 feet of dark, rich soil, where the morning sun illuminates the northern corner and cool shade takes over the south end. I’m collecting perennials – iris, astilbe, fern, delphinium, day lilies, hostas, bleeding heart, and a large butterfly bush. Every day, I go out and rearrange the pots, setting them here and there, stepping back to look, and then jumping in to re-arrange once more. I realize how much more I need – a bit more yellow here, some white over there, and always green, dark and luscious against the black mulch.
It’s a bit like writing, I think, this flowering business, and perhaps that is why so many writers and poets are also gardeners. Choosing just the right plant for the right spot in your garden, clearing out thickets and weeds, deadheading to inspire new growth – all reminiscent of the writing process itself. Words bloom with proper care, and leave lovely lasting impressions on the senses, just like a beautiful garden.
I have lots to read for the week ahead…Cutting Stone, Prayers for Sale, and Conscience Point are coming near the top of the stack. I’ll be finishing Undercover today, I think, as I awoke at 4:30 this morning, and simply powered right through this great young adult novel by Beth Kephart.
But now, I’m off to play in my garden again.
What’s growing in your reading garden this week?