Sunday, July 6, 2008

Night Scented

I have not had time to enjoy the garden today.
Too busy trussing up the tomatoes we’re growing in pots in the greenhouse this year. Too busy fertilizing the containerized plants. Hostages. Desperate for my attention. Today big gulps of fish fertilizer are dolled out to my prisoners, to ward off exhaustion in the coming hot spell. Hopefully to fortify.
I did not appreciate the garden until 10 after 10. I lied on the sofa by the window reading: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly ( an astounding little miracle ). I dropped the book as the night cooled air dropped a gust from the mountains. Atomizing the sweet honeysuckle by the road and carrying it to my nose unadulterated. Rarified even.
I looked out to the woods that wrapped the house in blackness. The shadowy height of the trees, below the sky barely a bruised blue, before stars.
Sometimes when the garden is “colorless”, fragrance is enough, bringing an even deeper satisfaction than seeing. A moth bounced against the screen to get to my reading light, with a vague frantic desire. Like the vague frantic desire in me to be as silent as the breeze-filled honeysuckle-scented night.