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Hope Hope is with you when you believe The earth is not a dream but living flesh, That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie, That all things you have ever seen here Are like a garden looked at from a gate.
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Autumn is like an old book: Marred spines turn mean yellow, staples rust red-orange. Every stained page is stressed by a splat of color. Rough-red, like an old tavern, we become hungry birds and prepare for fall. Shape and shadow are candied citron as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine, a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes. Pressed leaves take in the colors of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves are like death, climaxing with a smile. Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels; dark shelled, it covers up summer’s weatherbeaten body. So pull out your boots and stand on an aged, wood floor like an evergreen. Mary Hamrick : "Autumn"  
“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”
The Little Prince "Fold your arms round me close and strain me so that our hearts may break and our souls go free at last. Take me to that happy place of which you told me long ago. The fields whence none return, but where great singers sing their song forever."
Joseph Bedier, The Romance of Tristan and Iseult There is a time of the year when it seems that fragments of the sky are scattered on the ground and they appear to be bluer than the bluest heavens. It's squill woken up by a spring sun rays, opening its bijou but unbelievably cobalt flowers.
In chorus, the air above the fields begins to fill with honey-like smell and the eyes do not have enough of the golden yellow catkins, the culprit of that commotion. Unnoticeable until yesterday, now goat willow is becoming fluffier and fluffier with every hour. Blue squill like peace, yellow catkins like ripen cereal. A beautiful couple. Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O Friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty. The shortest days in the year have come- at least in the Northern Hemisphere- bringing along a lot of bleak and gloomy moments. Unfortunately, the so called "moments" seem to last far too long, which is sheer torture leading to physical and emotional deprivation. We all need extra energy to endure the dark, merciless hibernation and finally survive. Hoping for lighter and longer days, how about a sip of healthy infusion of red petals and fruit? Why red? You will know the moment you have finish watching the slideshow below. Just give it a go...
 A yellow flower
(Light and spirit) Sings by itself For nobody. A golden spirit (Light and emptiness) Sings without a word By itself Let no one touch this gentle sun In whose dark eye Someone is awake. (No light, no gold, no name, no colour And no thought: O, wide awake!) A golden heaven Sings by itself A song for nobody. Thomas Merton  ...as it is poetically put by Khalil Gibran in his evergreen -just like myrtle itself- book: The Prophet. A valuable and aromatic lesson of unconditional giving, whose only aim is to offer. The list of what myrtle has to give or secure is far, far longer. I am positive it must be a real burden for the plant to be sacred and responsible for immaculate love and immortality. In between these two, since time immemorial, the myrtle twigs have been supposed to assert the virginity of the bride as an essential condition to the future and rightful fertility of the newlyweds and their happy marriage. Myrtle is a symbol of fame, joy and triumph as well as peace, stability and empathy. My question is: why is it so rarely cultivated nowadays? Can we really do without myrtle and its magic? I doubt it.
A helpless question. First frost bites are merciless and do not leave room for any hope. When you see your beloved dahlias without life, anger is usually the instant reaction although we were prepared for such an unsightly sight. Suddenly, the perspective of long dreary winter months becomes almost tangible. On the other hand, the idea of perpetual repetition of life-cycles seems incredible, hence childish indignation. But poor dahlias can help here. Their tuberous roots need to be dug up and this very physical activity forces us to concentrate on more down -to -earth thoughts and actions. I am positive that not only dahlias can give us a helping hand and save a lot of energy we might squander on depressing divagations like...the idea of passing. I know, I know, it is all unavoidable. OK, I understand, but before I accept it, I want to deceive myself and enjoy the last happy moments when the world looked definitely more colourful, however vulnerable. Just before the unwelcome thrusts of inevitable and ruthlessly cold nights. Why not accompany me?
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AuthorI was destined to be born gardener. In order to become a professional one I had to enjoy years of studying at various schools and universities... read more Archives
May 2017
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