There is a long queue. With their thin legs, black ants hustled ahead, like frenzied shoppers in a busy street. Beside these groups of foragers, I lived my moments of vivid enthrallment. With dirt between finger-nails, I dug palm deep, into wet ground. We both ( mother and I ) held our breath while I delicately transferred a plant from its pot.
I loved it. Carefully holding the naked plant, taking a moment to admire the passel of mud coated roots and handsome little dirty bulbs; in the end there is a sense of contentment to get as dirty as the ground.
I recently surrendered to my liking for gardening. I realised how well it works, for the mind and general being. These are a few pictures I took this week. Of memories where both the plants and I learned to smile and grow.
" No two gardens are the same. No two days are the same in one garden. "