There’s a hush in my early morning garden, hot and oppressive even before the sun appears. I stand here in my pyjamas wilting with perspiration.
In the space of a breath that expels as a sigh, I’m aware of my presence in the moment. I sense something else: an aliveness, a sentience?
My garden has presence, a kind of aura that commands my attention. I can almost feel a heartbeat. Over the years I’ve read some interesting premises that promote the notion of plant sentience and connection. While some of the claims seem far fetched, I feel they contain a kernel of truth despite the lack of rigorous research to support them.
Like me, my garden has many moods. With each passing week, I delight in the new developments; a constant cycling of new growth, of new blooming, while spent flowers and plants decay and shrivel back to the earth. A microcosm, largely unseen by a passing eye, is at work in the soil beneath my feet, among the leaves and in the branches above me. Affected by the seasons, the weather, even affected by me as I plan, plant and nurture, my garden presents another mood, a new face every day. Today’s face is closed. The garden is hunkered down. Leaves curl inward, preserving moisture.
This day is shaping up to be another scorcher. My mood lies heavy as a blanket; there’ll be no gardening for me today. The heat stifles my creativity and irritability is beginning to bloom. Like my garden, my moods are subject to the seasons and the weather.
Thankfully, they too will pass.
What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.~Jane Austen~