The twenty ninth day

I had been to the garden several times seeking to close the circle of the year and the seasons.  It had never felt right though to write the last words about this place.

I instinctively felt that today was the right day though.  Once again the garden taught me what it wanted. Today the garden was filled with the sounds of wattle birds, cockatoos and tiny wrens.  Somehow though it was also very quiet.  Work has obviously been undertaken there in recent weeks, since other than for wind dropped branches and leaf litter it is neat and trim and cleared and planted.

The owner wasn't there though.  Neither was Tiny.  Their absence was noticeable - no welcoming bark from Tiny, no quiet talk with the owner.

I reflected on the year as I wandered the familiar paths.  This garden has provided me with a haven.  Its beauty and tranquility have soothed me often.   This year different plantings have been undertaken by its owner - so the year that was captured may not ever be seen in this garden again.

Thank you to Cherrydell's owner - Don LeQuesne - whose generosity in allowing me to freely wander through his garden has meant more to me than he will ever know.                   

The twenty eighth day

I walked, in the hot silence, through the garden.  It felt so very good to be back after such a long absence.

The garden is green.  Green everywhere.  Except for blue hydrangeas there seemed to very little of any other colour.  

I walked in and out of dappled shade provided by the tall trees.  It felt almost dream like. Perhaps that was the heat.

No sign yet of the tinge of autumn colour that will indicate that this year in the garden is done.

I am relieved - I missed the garden more than I had realised.

The twenty seventh day

"Listen to me," said the garden quietly.

"People think that winter is a time for hibernation.  That is true, but not for me.  I am working so hard underneath the surface.  I am nourishing and nurturing new growth.  The intensity of my spring season would not have escaped your notice."

"No," I smiled.   "No, it certainly did not."

"So," continued the garden in the same quiet tones, "so now it is time for me to sleep.  Look around you.  Whilst my trees are vividly green and my grass is the same, my flowers have lost their blooms and are returning to my earth.  You should come back from time to time, but that brief shining spring is over for me and I need to rest.  In a few months autumn will be here and the circle and the cycles and the seasons will be completed.  Go now and let me sleep."

"OK"  I said and turned and walked, softly, away.

The twenty sixth day

A vibrant spring day in the garden today. The colours of new leaf and grass are intensely green, or in some cases, red and copper.

The tulip season is done. The time to dig up and preserve bulbs is here. Incredible to think back on the coloured frenzy that descended on the garden. Very little blossom remains. The rhododendrons though are coloured white, red, pink and pale yellow throughout the garden.

Tiny rolls blissfully in the grass or reclines gracefully contemplating her lot.

There is some sadness today. The garden's owner found two little currawong nestlings dead in the garden, killed by vicious hail a couple of nights ago. We are unsure what the mother is doing on the nest. Is there another nestling?

Or is she mourning?

The twenty fifth day

I went to the garden today to take some photos that might better show the breadth of this place. Due to the recent bad weather the garden's owner was reopening the garden again and there were a few people arriving as I turned up.

It was just a quick visit on this holiday Monday. Although I wanted to capture wider angles, wider vistas, once more I was seduced by floral detail.

The brief frenzy of fantastically hued flowers is beginning, almost imperceptibly,to slow again, not this time for the winter season, but in readiness for the heat of long summer days.