Once again, I’ve become disengaged from my garden. Haven’t done anything much out there since leaf-raking time. But now it’s January — stock-taking time — and spring is lurking just below the horizon. A few days ago, I walked around and looked things over. No gloves on my hands, no tools in them. I had no intention of doing anything, just looking and seeing.

The garden is going along without me. Leaves are rotting, fallen branches accumulating. Lots of pond-side rocks rolled into the pond by raccoons. Holes dug all over the place by same. Lawn grass creeping into the beds (probably fleeing the dog pee, which is destroying it over wide areas). Early bulbs starting to sprout, some clematises also. Winter honeysuckle is in full bloom, wafting a delicious lemon scent in the evenings. The days are getting longer.

Conclusion: the garden is doing fine. Life and death processes are present. Nature doesn’t care about looks.

The gardener?

Having fits over the rotting leaves and fallen branches everywhere. Annoyed by raccoon damage. Distressed by the damaged lawns and fuzzy edges, resenting the dog. Making plans for edging, pruning, raking. Anticipating more fits. Envisioning better fences to contain the dog. Rejoicing at the sight of sprouting bulbs and budding clematises, gentians, etc. Heartened by the sight of what look like viable Meconopsis crowns. Feeling nostalgia induced by perfume of winter honeysuckle. Looking forward to retiring from The Job at the end of March and re-engaging with this patch of earth.

Maybe someday it will look like this again…

…minus those plastic chairs, of course.