Walk over their dead bodies
As to say ‘everything does mulch’.
After 60mm of rainfall (nearly 2,5 inches) in less than two days and a night of strong wind, yesterday morning I woke up with a bright sun breaking into the room through the curtains and warming my face. Although I couldn’t dig on that soaked soil I wanted to spend the day outside, so I decided it was about time for cutting the grasses and perennials in the grass garden. At the beginning I used the hedge trimmer that I usually (once a year) use for this purpose but unfortunately after a while it just stopped working. Another buzzing thing to bring back to dad for fixing… Nevermind, I decided to go on just using garden scissors.
Now some of my fingers ache and there are blisters here and there but the most disheartening thing is that the garden doesn’t look better than before, in fact it looks rather like a Ground Zero now. I knew I wasn’t improving the garden look but it’s a necessary stage to close the circle and start with brand new growth for the year. I mulched everything in loco to protect the ground from summer heat and drought and to somehow amend the soil. It was kind of interesting finding some of the previous year’s mulch was still there… I’m glad the plants are going to meet their grandparents this year…
Winter is definitely over, here, if what we had could be called winter, and I need to get the garden clean for the bulbs and the iris that are already peeping over the ground. Indeed this shall be a moment when I’m supposed to look forward with a heart full of expectations; instead I couldn’t help but thinking back to last summer’s old glories. That was what I was actually cutting and mulching and scattering around: their dead bodies. I felt a little sad and empty… and yeah, guilty, somehow…
How long now before I could observe bees crowded over veronicastrum spikes, how long before I could caress my feathery grasses, how long before I could stare at the simply perfect shape of echinacea’s flowers?
Watching last year’s pics gave a rough answer to the little version of myself that is always chatting inside my head and the answer was ‘months, little man‘.
Months. Oh my God! Seriously?? But I can’t wait any longer now, what can I do? Shall I pull up some daffodils holding those little taps they prepared just over the soil? Shall I disguise some finch like a swallow? Shall I paint some pop corn with yellow and black stripes and pretend they are bees buzzing around?
…All this waiting is killing me. Just when it seems to be almost there, Spring never arrives and this is really killing me.
Please somebody turn me into a bumble bee (I couldn’t bee skinny even as a bee, could I?) and send me somewhere South, far from this limbo, far from rain and far from mud.