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Just want

  
To plant.  Two weeks is all I need to wait, then in go the nasturium seeds, the nigella, and sunflowers.  On my window sill are zinnia seedlings, with an eighty percent success rate in their tiny cowpat pots.  Outside will tell a different story.  There, the dhalia tubers will be supplemented by new iris, and a few glads.  Salvia will be transplanted, and I’ll try something new.  And possibly another rose, one with a rich, swoon-worthy fragrance. 
I have four little gardens;two in front, and two in back.  I have scraped a bit more space out front and back as well.  The first has the roses, and foxglove, delphinium, an odd  hollyhock.  I’ve created a sweet pea support which looks like a hocket net goal, while last year’s were twigs tiedhaphazardly. In the second are the herbs, lavender, and no tomatoes. Okay, maybe some future tomatoes in a pot.  Maybe a square foot garden.  One square foot only.  One tomato plant. 

In the back are the shade gardens that I’ve described in other posts.  

I planted marigolds.  They look lonely, the flowers with eight inches of soace in between. Will they really fill up? Every year my sun garden is different.  

Why do we garden?  I bought two sets of flats this month: the marigolds, and one of delicate cream blue violas.  Putting them in the ground seems somehow too easy– that’s not gardening!  Gardening for me has been using seeds and ti y transplants, building slowly, not sticking in pots of twenty-four or six. 

I am thinking of color: cool and hot, as in Gertrude Jeckyll’s designs.  I am thinking of the monent the carpet of blue in the shade appears, along with the dicentra alba. I am thinking of summer.

April’s Ocean, April’s Poem

April can never make up its mind.  

Backed by the uncertainty of weather, I think of options, what elses, the looming future.  When can I plant outside?  Where will I be next year?  I comb job listings, fully aware the years of applying for a full-time steady-income job are beyond me.  I’m decades beyond thirty.  I have a full-time job. My full-time job is supplemented by part-time teaching to add structure to my days. My full-time job is making coffee for myself, and catching ideas from the air.  My full-time job is wandering around my apartment, gazing out the windows, moving a chair there, moving a comma here.  

Indira Ganesan, April Sea (closeup), 2016

Indira Ganesan, April Sea (closeup), 2016

 

I chanced on a blog site devoted to the sea called The Scuttlefish because I was looking for a poem by Neruda where he chants, the sea! the sea!  I found this poem instead. 

It is Born

Here I came to the very edge
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea,
and the moon swam back.
its rays all silvered,
and time and time again, the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
and everything is blue again like morning.

On the Blue Shore of Silence: Poems of the Sea, Pablo Neruda, trans by Alastair Reid

 

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