Friday, January 07, 2011


The garden of the Sanctuary had been ill tended.  Though it was important and suitably guarded- I had neglected it's upkeep.

The exterior seemed normal enough until I walked int the actual garden itself.  I was astonished by all the broken and splintered wood, as if great limbs from trees had been cast down and scattered among the plants, shrubs, and flowers I held dear.   The shrubs, while a few were almost split in two from the fallen timber, at least revealed smooth green branches in their broken places and reassured me of life.   The tender plants, like my petunias and herbs, had been smothered and would not be revived.  

What pained me most though was the well/fountain at the heart of my garden.  It was surrounded by a low circular stone wall in the center and was now covered with weeds and brambles.   There seems to be nothing sacred in nature.  No headstone a weed will not cling to and deface, no grave site to precious for dandelions, and no body of water to holy for bacteria or debris.   Sacred is the invention of men, and of gods, and of mothers.   Nature pays no heed to any.  

I, foolishly, dared to hope the order I had brought to my garden, the structure, the symmetry, would endure a season or two of my absence.  That nature would follow the guidelines I had set forth in neat rows of marigolds, precisely staked and tied tomato plants, and an herb garden sectioned off by stones I had dug from the ground to create a natural border.  Yes, it is true there was a evidence the hand of a gardener had been at work, but all boundaries were blurred and only a slight blueprint remained.

I was grieved and resolved at the same time.  I understood what I need to do.  I know labor and discipline will bring order and structure, but in the end it will be time, water, and nature which will bring new life.  

My only real concern is for the well at the center.  It is the object I have danced around with my words in this medium.  It alone is the reason for the garden.  The well is the actual Sanctuary.  I suspect it is not broken or ruined.  I dearly hope it is not dry, but I am not positive.   I don't have the fortitude to inspect if now, but I will work my way towards it as I cut the weeds back, dig up what is no longer thriving, and haul away debris.    

Surely the well is working...


Anonymous said...

may the waters
of your well run deep,
clear, and cold, dear mayden,
in the new year to come, and beyond

× × ×


dianne said...

Love your words dear Mayden, even in this overgrown state your garden is still a Sanctuary of beauty, there is something wonderful about disorder the randomness of nature ...
these images I love.

xoxoxo ♡

tinkerbell the bipolar faerie said...

Beauty is often random and overgrown. Love an miss you.

NYD said...

Beauty is not always defined by order. How often is it that we find that the ravages of time and nature create something extra, extra ordinary.

Just boil the water before you drink it, sweetie.

J Cosmo Newbery said...

It is a constant battle to fight entropy!

X. Dell said...

From my experience, nature rarely adheres to man's guidelines:-)

Skunkfeathers said...

Nature is a free spirit; so are you ;)

The Phosgene Kid said...

That's nothing, you should see my backyard, it'd make you weep.