Gardening

I find myself talking to the tiny seeds as I drop them into the dirt. “Good luck little seeds” I whisper as I bury them in the cool earth, and I remind myself that I am made of this rich, damp stuff. “Dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou return” I mutter as I tamp down the little garden grave that will soon come to life, if the sun shines and the rain falls, and I tend it well.
Each plant I encounter today reminds me of someone – a friend, a colleague, a Toronto politician– a wild theatre of botanical personalities springs to life in my little back yard plot.
Roses.
Cursing under my breath I wince at the cruel red line the unmerciful thorns tear across my hands and arms. “You roses are sons of birches!” I cry. But then look at them – how their drowsy pink heads nod knowingly at me, filing the air with just a hint of the fragrance they hold in store for mid-June – how their laden branches hang almost motionless, innocent, awaiting their next victim. Roses are like some people: beautiful but nasty.
Dandelions.
You grow everywhere with complete confidence and without a thought for your future or anyone around you! Do you know that I hate you and I will rip you from your shallow home before you even have a chance to spread your ridiculous puffy seeds on my lawn? I am compelled to kill you as soon as I see you. My hatred is all-consuming and I pursue my killing with studied passion.
What’s wrong with me? Why such an urgent need to kill this happy little flower?
Clematis.
You are very fragile and difficult. You are so fussy about which part of you wants sun and which part needs cool. You look so dead in April, but suddenly in June you blossom like it’s nobody’s business. You seem frail, but all those tiny tentacles hang together and make something really strong.
I know some Clematis people. They require so much nurturing, and it may seem all is lost, but when they decide it’s their time to bloom, they put on a glorious show.
Maple keys.
They are everywhere. I know some people who are Maple keys. They cannot stop talking! Their words shower down like these seedpods and cover everything, but they rarely take root and start something new.
I’d better stop blogging before I turn into one of these…