Yes you're quite right to be a little cool with me. I know it's been some time since I've been in touch and now...now with Christmas looming I have the audacity to try and grab your attention, hoping you'll take a look at my work. I have no excuses. I've been neglectful. I know that. Selfish even. Yes, I'll accept that. But you know I never meant to stay away. I was always going to come back. And I did. So. Would you like to have little read of my short, short story? I do hope so. Either way, let me wish you and your loved ones a very happy Christmas and a great New Year.
See you soon
Ian
(Please follow this link to take a look at my new novel 'Slybacon')
The Gardener
It’s
something I never look forward to but once I get started, once I’ve felt the
cold earth on my fingers and my lazy muscles begin to stretch, once the work
ahead becomes less than the work done, I begin to enjoy it. The garden is a
careless friend. Tended or not she will grow. Conifers will sprout and spread,
grass will timorously at first then with increasing audacity stretch and sway
in waves, and those quiet assassins – weeds! – will stealthily and steadily
encroach.
But I am
their master, and the hours I invest in pruning, cutting and weeding bear their
own fruit. The fruit of peace, of tranquility. The intense concentration on
one tiny errant seedling, the effort of sawing off that overhanging branch, the
focus on the here and now – just the simple and honest deep absorption in
nature banishes all other thoughts – no planning for the forthcoming week’s
work, no worrying about money, no deep ponderings on the meaning of life…
And today as
I stand and look around me, the air it seems is suffused with a golden sunlight
that tells of the promise of spring, the promise of another year of growth, of
blossoming, of maturity and – yes – ultimately of death, for each plant must in
its own time yield to the passing of the seasons and leave the rich, dark earth
free for those as yet unripened seeds and those tentative green shoots.
I breathe
deeply the warm, moist, earthy smell and scan my domain with satisfaction and a
confidence borne of experience... Yes, there are some weeds to be pulled there,
that part of the wall needs to be repointed, I’ll have to cut back that
creeping ivy and, when the weather is drier, I’ll mow and edge the grass. Yes,
it’s a little shabby as it emerges from the long winter but I know that with
some effort I’ll soon get it back into shape.
I pause and
smile as I peer through the patio doors at Chris reclining on the couch. She’s
watching television, totally oblivious to me working outside. I wave to catch
her eye but she’s absorbed in another of her favourite whodunits. No matter, she’ll
be pleased when she sees what I’ve done with the garden when I’m finished. A
warm wave of love comes over me as I watch her.
“I love you,”
I breathe and I wonder to myself if she can ever truly know how I feel. If
gardening brings me tranquility outside, Chris brings a loving calm throughout
the rest of our lives. I could stand and watch her for hours but the garden
won’t wait.
With a
reluctant sigh, I turn back to the waiting garden. Quickly I decide – that
border on the left is getting a bit overgrown - let’s get in there where I can
make the quickest impact. As I plunge into the burgeoning greenery, the back
gate swings open and Phil enters.
“Hiya son!” I
call but he must have his iPod on again. Either that or – more likely - he is
pretending not to hear me, cleverly avoiding the possibility of getting
conscripted into helping his dad with the garden. I look back to the house and
see Chris getting up as she hears the gate click shut. She meets Phil at the
back door.
“Hi son,” she
smiles and reaches for Phil, a full foot taller than her. They embrace warmly
and she kisses him on the cheek. As they draw apart Phil looks closely at his
mum.
“Are you ok?”
he asks. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
Chris smiles
bleakly and nods towards the garden. “I was just thinking – your dad always
loved his garden didn’t he?” She sighs. “I can’t believe it’s been almost
twelve months.”
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