Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

change in perspe

I know what happened. A change of perspective, and that change felt less exciting, less to write about, though the venom, testosterone and dopamine surged no less - at different times.
This disinclination shall soon pass. Like, right now.

The past lies in a fog, of forgetfulness. It is natural to have the neural pathways dispossessed of memories after an idle period. Major details remain while the contributing facets wither away - stump of a past, a forest of stumps if I turn to look back, with the ones recent on the trail fruiting but withering away in the lack of an agent, a transactional middleman that will sell the fruit before it rots and keep the tree alive. Too many trees, though, spoil the business.

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Saturday, October 02, 2010

Gardening

Foreign Flower
Something clambered up to the surface in me yesterday - the primordial desire to cultivate. As I ambled along the open spaces outside my office complex, there was a strange sensation in observing the grass artificially growing in modest patches. More than those verdant patches did I find interest in the dug out portions of the earth – the brown earth, often clumped together in fist-sized chunks, the roots haphazardly sticking out, in a violent fashion, like a scene of genocide. The gaping hole in the earth was strangely inviting; maybe it was an invitation to creation, somebody had to fill it in, I wanted to be that somebody.

My envy for the day went towards the gardener, whom I had caught at work earlier in the day. He was working on a tiny patch of grass, right there as you step out the conditioned environs of the office. It was nothing very challenging – he had carved out an area which he was methodically carpeting with new grass. I was drawn-in to the extent of forgetting the embarrassment of conveying my idleness (when you are a worker, you do have to look busy – a cellular conversation, smalltalk with fellow colleagues, a notebook to scratch on, those darned shoe laces that never stay put… anything but an extravagant display of nothingness).

We humans are a grassland-loving species, we like to put our lands to use, to cultivate, and I won’t doubt a wider reach of this instinct. I have grown up seeing lots of Uncles sharing a passion/indulgence for gardening – scoops, rakes, watering cans – that you wonder why they only blame the opposite sex of being sedate in their own artificial worlds. I have heard of army men growing gardens to escape their dull routine abroad – creating a new landscape within the new landscape that they have been posted to. Alas, I presently have nothing but a couple of dying/dead plants in tiny pots on my balcony; they get little sunlight and no human attention. There is no grass I could grow, no garden I could rake of dead leaves in the autumn, or rose bushes that I could prune. Another cry inside to get back home asap.
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