Time. It is not fixed. We can flit backwards and forwards through it at will. A day can speed by with little more than a nod and other days crawl painfully slowly. Days spent weeding are the best days for time travel. Especially when the garden is quiet and you’re left alone to meander round your own mind. These sorts of days are an enigma, in that they seem to last forever, but flee, though still allow you to loiter in your grandmother’s garden as a six year old whilst simultaneously planning your future garden as you avoid digging up essential seedlings in real time. You become like a one person wormhole of space-time madness!
That is why I love weeding. You cannot weed if all you see are weeds and the task. The repetitive nature of the act and the fact that you can’t half-do the job, means you’re forced to train yourself to side-step in your mind… and the potential for places to drift to is endless! Imagining the young plants around you as fully flowering abundance is a good starter excersize, how their textures will touch against each other, the nuances of their hues, shadows that will be cast by them when the sun gets low in the Autumn and they are all in their last throes. Another good one is to imagine the night-time border. Small creatures creeping about under the leaves, molluscs munching on fresh new shoots dripping with dew, gentle mists rising from the newly warmed earth, I can creep into the shadows and sit quietly and become molecular.
Today I stuck rose thorns onto my face again from the heady yellow rose from my Nan’s porch and became a spiky beast. I once again explored the inter-dimensional space that I inhabited during childbirth 16 years ago today and recalled the deeply life affirming feeling of suckling my own young for the first time. I remembered the chrome and blue BMX I had and how you scraped your knuckles on the chip rendered walls of suburban houses when you cycled through the alley to your friends house. I walked through a landscape I didn’t know, but knew I would, or could, or might never, but it didn’t matter… and then it was time to go home. Just like that, the day escaped. The weeds did not.