A light dusting of overnight snow dresses the garden in half-hearted fashion: enough to be labelled as snowfall, but too little to silence the world in the way that a serious deluge manages so wonderfully to do. Some parts of the garden are dusted with white; others appear just as normal. The flowerpots are all… Continue reading A dusting of snow and a skein of geese: field notes from the garden 25.11.17
The welcome sound of birdsong demonstrates nature’s continual commitment to rail against the hard onset of true winter. And yet in other places, frond-like fingers of stasis are slowly taking hold. I poke about in some of flowerpots atop the garden table. Leaves are no longer moved through the garden with the skeletal skitter of… Continue reading Defiant birdsong and settled leaves: field notes from the garden 18.11.17
The garden issues a false sense of warmth: the ferocity of some of the icy mornings in the past week skew my perceptions as I stand here, but this damp November morning is cool indeed. A solitary honey bee drifts purposefully into view, and inspects the pastel mauve of the vinca flower next to me. … Continue reading A solitary honey bee and awakened soil: field notes from the garden 11.11.17
A mild November morning, dampened by the light, yet steady rainfall of the small hours. I stand at my usual vantage point at the bottom of the garden, cradling the ceramic warmth of Saturday coffee out of doors. The stream below me is swollen, engorged: it flows with renewed purpose and focus, no longer meandering… Continue reading Fluid herons and dancing ivy: field notes from the garden 04.11.17
This is at once a new beginning, and yet also a continuation; much like the rhythms and the pulse of the seasons themselves. The veritable thrill of excitement I derive from both, is acute, and amplified: A Seasoned Soul is launched. Back in 2008, my wife and I, back in the infancy of our relationship,… Continue reading Rebirth.