These are the things my garden told me

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The grip of winter lingers, hard to shake off like a knot deep between my shoulder blades. A cold discomfort in my heartspace. Breathe into it, the…
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February 2023

I recognise the feeling now, my fourth cycling through this mark in the year, the third time while paying attention. A restlessness, an urge to sort…
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May 2022

I am sat at my laptop staring at the garden trying to find the words. The garden is teeming with life, but I am thinking about death. I get up and go…
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December 2021

I had planned to spend the last day of the year in the garden. Planting the last bulbs, sowing the first seeds. I woke up dreaming of the metaphors it…
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November 2021

If the sun never sets on the British Empire, let me be of the realms of the moon. Nothing new has been said under the sun, but when I speak I find my…
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August 2021

I try to understand the wound. What was the cause of the land and people’s severing? Why did those who lived here begin to feel it was not enough, to…
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May 2021

It is May. The forerunner of summer. I walk round the garden under leaden skies, braced against the wind. There was no frost last night thanks to the…
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March 2021

Yesterday was the spring equinox. Today things have already teetered off kilter, each day visibly longer than the night past. The race is on to sow…
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February 2021

I wake on the last day of January with a strong urge to tidy the house. With all four of us at home, all the time, the ebb and flow of our days leave…
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December 2020

Last night I dreamt of my garden. It was winter & I was surrounded by fresh greens: cabbages & lettuce, the name lollo rosso rolling around my mind. An…
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The thing about living in a small community is the way in which you are fully seen. I remember the painful vulnerability of this; the desire to cloak…
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November 2020

We wake, pour coffee. It is raining & the deck is slippery with fallen leaves and fast advancing moss so we look out at the woods from indoors, a steady…
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© 2023 Marchelle Farrell
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