I leave the gates open at certain times. I leave the grass unmown here, and neatly trimmed there. Mushrooms have grown around that circle; a Dancing Green.
The Garden now has it's tangled places. Things I never planted grow. I sometimes have to hunt the botany books to find out what I have growing. It is always something I am going to need soon.
The fruit trees which had not borne fruit for years, this year bore heavily. As though they cannot bear to be left out of the thrumming surge of green love that has settled here.
Some for the bird, some for the bee, some for my friends and some for me.
I caution them against too much overgrowth,here, at the edge of a city which likes neatly trimmed lawn.
Balance, I remind them, balance between what is needfull and what can be gotten away with. so that in this one suburban yard
there is a place.
What is more necessary? To offer a place. To give welcome to those who wish to share. A space to be. A spot for a Dancing Green and a Mushroom Ring.
I have a market to buy what i need. What do the wild ones have? They shop in my garden.
They pay with hours of watching their stories. in the snows of winter, the nests of spring I watch. Joys and tragedies are wover among them all.
The house, yard and garden have many words for joy. One does not garden only for sun warmed fresh vegatables, nor just for fragrence of flower; one gardens for all the visitors,two-legged; four-legged and winged which come for joy and sharing. A garden is for sharing and magic.
