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There she weaves by night and day….

Life is like a tapestry…..it is made of many, many threads……and it is only when all these threads are in one place and secure do we feel whole. There are so many colours, so many textures…..sometimes we drop a thread, a strand…..and we feel the gap that it creates…….my kitchen garden has become the warp into which I thread all my other strands.

See…here is the work thread…..it is a jolly colour…..which fades a little in places when things don’t work out well, when the day becomes too sad…….but the thread, like me, even when I feel spent, remains strong and never threatens to break……. And there is the family thread, the colour always changing…sometimes there are ‘boborlottisbbles’ on the thread…..but it, too, is always there.

If you look closely at the tapestry you may see occasional specks of gold…..these are my dreams, my fantasies, that ‘what if’s’….my tapestry is strewn with them. There are a couple of holes in it too…..the relationships that didn’t quite turn out as hoped….

…..but throughout the weave there is a garden….my garden…the garden. I did not know, when I was younger and thought I would marry a prince and ride horses every day, that my garden would be my main thread, my warp. But so it has become. I think my grandparents were the first to dangle this wee strand in front of me…….it has since become my strength and my solace. My garden and all the nature within it have become a place where I play out all my metaphorical hopes…….it is the place to which I return when my real dreams are dashed. My thoughts frequently return to this thread and, as time goes on, I realise how (if not why) it has become so important to me.

It is the last day of September, the weather is balmy, it is harvest time. I sit at the desk in my attic room with the window flung wide. It has gone midnight and I am listening to Argentine tango music (another thread is the music)…….I write…..a breeze drifts across my shoulders…….I listen…I reflect…..I could be anywhere right now……and then…..another little speck of gold dust appears on my tapestry as I fantasise about my dream garden……the garden is my one constant (in it’s ever changing way)……the garden will always be there for me……

Tonight, in this late, unseasonably warm air, I will dance a Tango whilst spraying gold dust on my tapestry…….and tomorrow I will dig and harvest and be joyful.

May all your gardens be part of your tapestries. And may they be littered with gold dust.

 

 

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