I spoke with an old, dear, true friend the other night. It was so great to talk with her. I hadn’t spoken with her in a long time. She has also started a garden in her new home – which I’ve yet to see and must plan to visit soon. Her garden sounds beautiful. I miss her. I also miss my old garden in Maine – another old friend of mine that was dear – and unlike my friend, probably won’t visit again. I wonder how it is doing …
Has the baby clematis I planted grown up and overtaken this rustic trellis as planned? Did the nasturtium reseed itself and creep in? Have the foxglove advanced their magic purple towers?
A place in my heart still resides there, still in the woods, much like the dangling bleeding hearts that by now must hang heavy with overloaded branches.
Even with the excitement a new garden has to offer, thoughts of my old garden “pop up” from time to time. I hope the new care taker is indeed
and a green bee.
I suppose I am just “wining” like these ‘snaps in wine.’ I suppose we all have gardens we’ve left behind and that we think about now and then, or even try to recreate. We may have transplanted some parts of them in our new gardens just as we transplanted ourselves.
And I suppose we all have old, dear, true friends. Like the friend I should call more often and visit soon. Thyme is a short plant that creeps along the ground and before you know it, will take over.