England, we are led to believe, has four seasons - although sometimes it can feel like one long, wet, grey never-ending winter. As my Aussie husband loves to say of our weather, 'Summer is my favourite day of the year!'
I'm a great fan of winter. I love the dark, cosy nights, the rain, hail, snow and cloud. Yes, I really do! But I do get to a point, when we change the clocks, that I start to yearn for a bit of sun, a cool breeze and long evenings enjoying our garden. We have a very small, typical townhouse garden but we utilise the space well and take full advantage of it whenever we can. Dinners seem longer, chat seems less distracted and life feels better during an alfresco meal or drink.
So yesterday when we found ourselves with an unseasonably warm day for London, we set to work on preparing the garden for our long-awaited summer. Tubs were emptied, borders cleared, leaves swept, plants chopped and seeds planted.
As I dug my fingers into the earth, covering seeds and pulling out weeds, I could almost smell the approach of warmer days. Oh, I know we have a lot more of the grey stuff to get through before we can have that first drink outside but ... it's coming! It's on its way!
My garden looks a bit like an empty stage awaiting its actors at the moment but it's exciting and I love the thrill of watching new shoots pop up or new life pushing its way through the soil.
I then got to thinking how much tending a garden is like writing. It all starts with that first seed. You plant it and give it time, love and patience. Lots and lots of patience! As it grows you trim it, prune it and tame it. Sometimes it gives you a scare and you think you may lose it but then it suddenly bounces back with a surprise. Within time, that tiny dot of nothingness has a mind of its own with strong roots and it's ready to face the world.
The only difference is, I can choose when I want to plant in my garden. Sadly (or maybe, happily) I can't with writing. I wasn't looking for a new plot but the germ of an idea popped into my head yesterday and I think it's already settling itself in the soil of my brain and preparing to sprout.
Ah well! At least I'll have a lovely scented garden to work in. Now pass me that notebook and a box of fertiliser!
I've got some words buried somewhere in the back of my head ... they seem to be taking an age to grow shoots!
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