Photographs from the summer garden. This year I grew my wild-flowers from seeds. They survived the driving rain and gusty winds of Springtime, the cold and dull days of early Summer now in August, they bloom and grow as if to reach the sky. So magical to behold. I have taken many photos of them all, especially the Marilgolds although I have only posted a few. Eve
“A poor old Widow in her weeds
Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;
Not too shallow, and not too deep,
And down came April — drip — drip — drip.
Up shone May, like gold, and soon
Green as an arbour grew leafy June.
And now all summer she sits and sews
Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,
Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet,
Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;
Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;
Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;
Like Oberon’s meadows her garden is
Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.
Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,
And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;
And all she has is all she needs –
A poor Old Widow in her weeds.” – Walter de la Mare, Peacock Pie
LONELINESS is the doorway to unspecified desire. In the bodily pain of aloneness
is the first step to understanding how far we are from a real
friendship, from a proper work or a long sought love. Loneliness can
be a prison, a place from which we look out at a world we cannot
inhabit; loneliness can be a bodily ache and a penance, but loneliness
fully inhabited also becomes the voice that asks and calls for that
great, unknown someone or something else we want to call our own.
Loneliness is the very state that births the courage to continue
calling, and when fully lived can undergo its own beautiful reversal,
becoming in its consummation, the far horizon that answers back.
From upcoming The Reader’s Circle essay; LONELINESS
(c) David Whyte