Sorry folks, been busy prepping the garden for the cold weather veg. Will update with the plant log and growth pics when I can find the camera again! In the meantime, have a dose of Fiction.
The Wisdom of the River
I stood by the river. It has just
stopped raining. The banks are flooded, and the leaves on the trees
barely gripping on the steep bank scattered around me, like drops of
glass in the blowing wind. I slid down a few steps, barely out of
reach of the frigid flow, clinging to the stunted branches of the
treelets that are climbing the steep slope. The air smelt like
crispness of spring and the dampness of earth slowly waking up; the
sleepy plants sending out tentative shoots to drink the long awaited
warmth and light of the Brother Sun, who emerged shyly from behind
the dancing Cloud People.
The Elder Sister Wind changed direction
suddenly, and instead of the perfume of new growth, came the icy
smell of snowmelt and dank, rotting, wood and leaves, from the
rivulets that jumped and danced down the rocky face of the Great
Stone Pillars that holds up the Sky. What moments before seemed like
promise of life, now seemed like the foreboding of Death to come.
But the river still flowed, regardless
of the smell of Death and Decay. Slowy, the running, dancing rivulets
of water pushed off the pile rotting dank vegetation into the river,
who swallowed it whole then spat it back out into the waiting roots
of the trees climbing the steep bank. Then I noticed, the steep bank
that is mostly rock and gravel is being nourished by the gradual
trapping of rotting winter vegetation that comes down with the spring
rivulets. From which sprang the climbing trees, whose spindly
branches I now held in my cold, numb, hand. The stunted growth is
exploding with tightly wrapped summer buds, just waiting to emerge.
The promise of Life and Hope, from the wreckage of Death and Decay.
I understood now, why the River calls
to me.
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