Human Wildlife

 

Emptying the final bag of Cotswold stone, I stand back to take in the effect of a completed garden pathway.  The feeling I am left with, no pun intended, is of being grounded.  The disrupted, dislocated space, which has been my outside view for the last thirty three months, is no more.  The picture I had amateurishly sketched all that time ago, now looks back at me.  Curiously, the authority of the flora planted, and growing wild, in areas delineated by an ancient wall, railway sleepers, a raised area, recycled doors, and wrought iron gates, is augmented by the colour and texture of the stone.  I am somewhat overwhelmed by the visual impact.  My modest landscape garden project is so much more than the five square meters of space beyond my sitting room windows.  What I see, I understand provides a continuation of living beyond the physical walls of my home.  It invites, or entices me, as human wildlife, to be part of the fauna of this garden.  Albeit my nectar is drawn from the heart of tea pot.