Eden

This is my garden. I recently discovered the quiet allure of the forgotten art of gardening. More than shoving seeds into soil, More than impatiently waiting for seedlings and then greedily harvesting the fruit of one’s labour. More than the many thankless hours of back-breaking weeding, mulching, watering, cursing, despairing. And when it is time for the plant to finish its cycle of giving, the gardener plans again, plants again, hopes again. In the midst of this mindless weeding, this ridding of unwanted plants, I am often surprised by a sudden creeping silence that descends, a rustling of leaves both immediate and near, perhaps the cooing of doves hidden. And then I know- I am in The Zone, lost to the world. I am reckless in the garden, deliberately so. Relishing a recklessness which otherwise in any other place I am not permitted. I allow weeds to sprout and birds to disperse seeds of indeterminate origins everywhere in this tiny and crowded yard. My garden’s alarmingly haphazard appearance Is strangely comforting and somehow familiar. I check-in daily on the betel leaves, periwinkles and black-eyed peas- humble and oft-overlooked flora. I am learning from their hardiness and dependability, their valued ordinariness. Re-potted, sytrofoam-boxed, stringy, stunted, yellowing and nondescript None look impressive. Yet, I am satisfied, I am quietly content With these hurriedly snatched moments on a Sunday morning, on a harried weekday evening here among these humble pots. Here in this garden of joy, faith is restored sanity preserved through the power of a seed. 26 Dec 2013.