Summer is a time of extremes: temperature, humidity, overgrowth, length of days. All long and overwhelming. All extreme. Sometimes a haze comes over me and I want to sit and rest while I watch things grow up all around me. Weeds take over the garden. Pathways are reduced by the growth of bushes, the fallen stems of plants and yellow wood sorrel that have overtaken the tidy mulch that had previously distinguished lines of demarcation.
I wonder at what provokes me to want to fix it. To make it orderly again. To show the definitive separation between plants. To trim down the deadened hosta flowers. To discard the potted plant that once sported colorful buds, now replaced by mostly brown. To grasp that creeping Charlie and pull it out by its roots. To control it all and make it manageable.
And, yet, another part of me says it is all too much. I can never keep up. It will only grow back and continue to haunt me. I’ll never be free of it.
This summer I sense another option. One that says I can live with weeds. I feel differently about what’s around me. Maybe because of what I’ve survived this past year, I can appreciate the mess and think of it as controlled chaos. There’s a beauty to it. There’s a freedom in it. The dogs don’t seem to care. The bunny still hops through the yard. The squirrel still lands on the tray feeder. The neighbors still say hello.
And, the birds continue to sing.
Leave a Reply