This is for Rowan and Andrew, wild orchids in their natural habitat. I wish Rowan luck buying plugs, but not sure they will thrive out in  open lawn, even in long grass.

Frank Sinatra had a love song, ‘Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more’. Moving away slightly from my memory games, asking anybody who is willing to give ten minutes today to Mindfulness, see what arrives, and report back if you feel like it (go on, you can find ten minutes, take your cuppa out in the garden, phones to be left behind).

I am noted for my ‘stream of consciousness’ and a mind which jumps as wildly as a flea. But I did a course on Mindfulness during lock-down, and found it good.

The following did not arrive from a disciplined ten minutes, of course. First the glorious yell of your new-born baby, he/she is alive. Then (pre scans) the shout from the midwife ‘It’s a boy/girl’. Then you check all bits are present and correct

Fast forward, just while having a sandwich and glass of red on my terrace. Those racing thoughts were like thistle-down, gone too fast. I caught a few. Bach’s famous Toccata and Fugue on a fabulous cathedral organ. Sun shining through the rose window at Chartres. A bank of primroses. Weeping willows and pink flowering cherries against the black cloud of a sudden April storm. The blackbird in early spring. It is not a song, it is an aria. Any golden beach, anywhere. A new fall of snow, untrodden. A just opening rosebud. A brilliant blue dragonfly over running water in the sun. This morning, after weeks of scorching heat, a very little rain and everything smelt fresh. A visiting magpie, no man in full evening dress can match the bird. A full church, and the 23rd psalm, to Crimond. The full moon, rising over the mountains. Early morning in the rice fields of Bali, the workers in their conical hats and the white egrets after their breakfast, frogs and eels. 

A beautifully set table, before the guests arrive. Hot air balloons in a cloudless blue sky. The first feeling of being really ‘alive’ after a long illness. Talking round a log fire, not caring what time it is. Fine porcelain, beautiful silk, tapestry or silk rugs taken years to make. Going to bed, the relief, the comfort, if the day has been hard, or painful, with a good book. Christenings, lovely, after our fifth people left saying ‘see you at the next’, reply I cannot keep on producing babies, have your own, or just give a party. Weddings? More and more splendid and costly, to hide the armed neutrality behind them? Right, I have to go to my memory workshop, so it’s over to you, ten minutes of your time, please. 

The Gardener

A Moodscope member