Marianna has this question at the end of her post “I love that English cottage-garden look. I wonder if that says anything about my writing? LOL!”
Yes, it does indeed Marianna. Very organized and colourful!
Some order in disorder!
Now to round off with some poetry.
The Man Born to Farming
The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,
whose hands reach into the ground and sprout
to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death
yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down
in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.
His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.
What miraculous seed has he swallowed
That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth
Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water
Descending in the dark?
~ Wendell Barry