"I grow old, I grow old," the garden said.
Robert Finch
As my garden prepares to bed down for the winter, it's hard not to feel a little sadness creeping in. I watch the shadows lengthen on the sundial, observe the colored leaves turning brown and feel the autumn chill on the still-moist ground. My garden is fading and losing its freshness. The summer growing season is over. Yet, though my garden withers, it is precisely at this moment that it provides me with my greatest source of inspiration.
It is in my garden that I find displayed the cycle of life in all its glory; the literal transfer of energy from above to below. While on the soil surface the plants' leaves shrivel, deep underground their roots remain strong. I know this resting phase is essential. Without it, the life of all plants would be compromised. Resting, but ready, inscrutable and obscured, the roots continue to sustain the plants through the cold winter months. Come spring, they pulse forward with growth, translating into a burst of new life on the surface.
On the surface, the plants wither, but their roots remain strong. Every year, new life returns from the same source, pushing its head upwards through the inky black soil. Each plant is a descendent of the same family: One, but not the same, offering us another season of joy in the life of our garden.
Posted by Carole Funger
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