These are the things my garden told me

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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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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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I stand at the edge of the sea & she sings to me of home. One wild rocky shore connected to another by this body of water. I am a body of water. I have…
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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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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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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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Motherhood brought me to the garden. What is a garden but a womb, a space fecund with creative potential. After years adrift in the barren desert of…
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The day dawns grey and wet, the woods opposite flare orange in momentary defiance of leaden skies. A small tornado of leaves whips through the brooding…
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She dances home a flower fairy, sprigs of green and white in her hair. The green and white of the last wear of her summer uniform, but I am relieved…
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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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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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© 2022 Marchelle Farrell
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