Aug 2019
The weeds weren't feeble, clinging on to stone
And ripping up soil as they were torn out.
But now that they are gone, sit down alone,
Among soft sounds of wind, water and ground.
The leaves clash with colours and two flowers
Bravely bloom with perfumes of late winter,
Early foreshadowings of warmer hours.
The shadows of sunlight stretching further
Close your eyes, with smells of hard work and scents
Of flora. Of fauna, a single bird sings.
Australia's face still, her voice silent,
The night comes to comfort her with ceilings
Of starlight and you smile to see the glinting cross,
Instantaneously feel slowness.
And ripping up soil as they were torn out.
But now that they are gone, sit down alone,
Among soft sounds of wind, water and ground.
The leaves clash with colours and two flowers
Bravely bloom with perfumes of late winter,
Early foreshadowings of warmer hours.
The shadows of sunlight stretching further
Close your eyes, with smells of hard work and scents
Of flora. Of fauna, a single bird sings.
Australia's face still, her voice silent,
The night comes to comfort her with ceilings
Of starlight and you smile to see the glinting cross,
Instantaneously feel slowness.
“Modern life is, for most of us, a kind of serfdom to mortgage, job and the constant assault to consume. Although we have more time and money than ever before, most of us have little sense of control over our own lives. It is all connected to the apathy that means fewer and fewer people vote. Politicians don’t listen to us anyway. Big business has all the power; religious extremism all the fear. But in the garden or allotment we are king or queen. It is our piece of outdoors that lays a real stake to the planet.”
― Monty Don,
― Monty Don,
