I’m container gardening. The day is sunny, warm, a rare occasion this spring. I run my hands over herbs, lovingly caressing and releasing their fragrance; chocolate mint, spearmint, lemon sage, thyme, oregano.
I ready the pots. Old containers washed and waiting to be filled. But first I visit Summer, the horse next door. I’ll use the hay to partially fill the over-size ceramic pots, and for drainage. My neighbor Lorna helps me.
Summer helps both of us. She nudges our shoulders. She blows little puffs of breath with her velvet lips. She rolls her enormous chocolate-brown eyes. She flutters her super long eyelashes. She flirts outrageously distracting us from our hay gathering. How could we NOT stop to rub her nose and tell her how beautiful she is.
I’m planning a Monet inspired colour scheme, lots of pink with dashes of red and a splash or two of white. In the very French manner the pots of herbs will grow close by the door releasing their intoxicating perfume to all who brush by.
Tenderly the plants are transplanted. My fingers dig deep into the rich, black earth. I dream ahead to a garden beguiling with dahlias in a dozen shades of pink, perfumed stocks, dazzling red and pink geraniums, delicate, blush impatience, impudent deep pink petunias. The hydrangea and the camellia , the peonies and the star-gazer lilies in outrageous in pink. This will be a glorious garden.
Bring on the sun