Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Formscape proclamation

Today, we return the truck -- it's big, it's white, it's my shining knight. Tomorrow is return-to-van day in which the wheel-rear auditorium echoes, and I feel compartmentalized appropriately (rebellion suppressed). My mother-in-law loaned us her truck because in our little snippet of lawn, I've managed to plant dried stalks of almost everything to create the appropriate winter-form-scape. (That's my artsy-lazy self talking. But, really, if we would've had much snow, it would've created wetlybeautifullyclumpily smacks of beauty on the outlines of all things-lovely in the summer. Darn.) As it was, my husband drove home the truck, and then he went whackin' around outside. When he goes whackin', he's as indiscriminate as as the verb whackin' suggests (whirlwind of twigs and testosterone and anger and seed pods, etc). For instance, my white buddelai is now cut down to its core. Okay, it was in its third year and looking a bit droopy and wind-whipped (and who really knows whether you prune the bush or not), but still it contrasted well with the maroon hibiscus nearby. Albeit the hibiscus was cramped because the white buddelai barked at it to scoot. Yet, I will miss that buddelai because she took me back to a former friend named Vikki, whom I miss, but don't wish to recover. In that same bed, I've recently noticed the russet thrusts of tree peony shoots which bring me back to a contraband exchange. See, how each planting needs to be left alone in space, in memory, in time? I whine, but I was inside while the whackin' whirlin' workin' (whistlin'?) was happenin'. I just didn't know he would be feeling all those emotions toward my formscape plantings. I whimper.
Okay, my white knight awaits. I must go cleansed and appreciate the fact that he's available any time to recreate a buddelia free-for-all if mentally and artistically and butterflyishly needs warrant. I proclaim abundance in the summer. I proclaim plantings. I proclaim scrunched hibiscus and blackberry lily and beebalm and half-dead tea rose and lovely indigo. And, lastly, I proclaim a kiss to my husband for making room for the new abundance of amazingly scraggly shapedwinterforms.:)

1 comment:

lady laura said...

Feeling whimsical? LOL.
In the Garden of the Soul study for this week, our author talks about how looking through her garden, much of what she sees holds memories: the dear friend who shared her yarrow, the other who gifted with irises, etc. Like minds...... It is a beautiful thought, really. Need to get me some of those memories:-)