Tuesday, August 6, 2013

(the) Weekend:

The weekend came, and went, and sunny it was. Cocooned by the stillness of the overflowing flowers and grasses of my balcony, this past weekend was spent with my nose in a book. Or two books, shall I say. Gone were the oversized periodicals that most often consume my time on this balcony, and present were these two books. Both authored by the ever so poignant Dominique Browning, who just so happened to be writing about plants, and gardens, and life. I was hopelessly lost deep within their pages, alternating one for the other. One of the most wonderful aspects of writing and gardening, is the way in which they complement one another, unbound in their intertwining possibilities. Gardening is a metaphor for life, or so it can be, I'm learning. And as the garden grows, so too do its plants, and so too do I. It was in this very garden that the weekend hours slipped me past; the breeze drifted eastward and the clouds piled high in the air above. Within this tiny garden, my mind tends to expand, jumps up and onto the clouds rolling past, and suddenly, I'll transport myself to another world, one that I happened to create: a soothing oasis of clam within Amsterdam, my neighborhood, and my home. Transcending is my garden. A refuge for recharging, the garden has only now fully bloomed.