September 19th, 2001

I am out cutting the little side lawn, enjoying the pearly fall crocus and the few delicate pink roses that have deigned to provide a small but exquisite autumn show.  The hand push mower makes a lovely whirring sound and there is the faintest aroma of freshly cut grass as I enjoy the blue sky and the summery clouds in the crisp, cool September air.

When I am finished I go to measure the length and width of the raised garden bed in which I plan to plant the peonies and delphinium, the scarlet bergamot and pristine phlox, a couple of iris, a few roses, some pearly everlasting, a bit of coral bell and probably some sage - stop, stop!  It is only 24 feet long and 3 and a half feet wide.  I must be content with small snippets...... but I will smother the composter in the far corner of the back garden with day lilies, some Stella d'Oro and the big red streaked ones that are so showy.

It is very hard for me to admit to myself that I am now eighty-six, and the day-long sessions I once enjoyed in the garden have shrunk to an hour or two in deference to aching muscles and failing energy, but for those shortened hours I am incredibly grateful, and I can always dream on a grand scale!

This afternoon I will go up to our house on the hill that stands, empty eyed, gazing over that lovely vista to the Cawston hills, and I will delight in the garden that continues with its business of creating beauty while it procreates, - making seeds, pushing the Chinese Underground Railway a little farther into the suburbs, swelling corms and bulbs and  rosehips.  I will gather the dried pods of the heritage sweet pea that will crackle and burst in my hands, scattering more progeny at its feet and bring home roses and the second flush of delphiniums to sweeten the house and reflect in the mirrors and our memories.

Life is good.....