I don’t know how the idea got started. That’s the fun thing about ideas. They sneak up on you, offering promise. My back yard fence that blew down in the Altadena fire/wind storm has finally been replaced, and the brush has been cleared, leaving a grass-free space blanketed by an at least 100-year-old oak tree. I am not much of a gardener, but I am a dreamer, and I wanted a place where I could daydream. Take tea. Write poetry. Charming with splashes of calming color.
Pretty soon, I was buying lavender-hued plants for a small garden that I could overlook from the deck. As I placed the pots out to decide where they should be planted, I kept changing my mind. That’s when the idea came to me, the not-so-great gardener. Why plant them in the ground? An hour later, my collection of empty flower pots was filled with plants, and I could move them about as often as I pleased.
Moving around the plants is like writing a poem. You finish it, and you’re happy. Maybe it even gets published. Then, at some point, you read it again and see something you want to change. A new thought is born that leads you to a place you didn’t see earlier, and you can’t wait to make the adjustment that fits your mood. The change to where you are now might be very subtle, but you feel content once you’ve made it.
Some day you might go back to the original version, or scrap it and start over. Creativity gives you so many options, and the enthusiasm to try them. With that thought in mind, I decided to create a few winding pathways. One takes you through the plant garden and splits into two different directions. Thank you for that idea, Robert Frost.
As I sit in my lavender rocking chair on the deck overlooking my back yard-turned rustic garden, little poemlets (yes, I made up that word) are floating around me like butterflies. My eyes are following two of the paths. One leads to a small tea table and chairs that I filched from the courtyard. The other one pauses, like it is not sure where it is heading, though the direction is leading toward the back of the garage, which is not visible. That is the path of possibility.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com.