Recently I was told to be careful about describing something as "blooming," because by doing so you must also see it as something ephemeral, destined to fade, sooner than later. So, given that life is ephemeral enough, it should really cease to amaze me when I lose a garden!
Last December, during the darkest days of the year, I moved into a lovely, sunlit apartment, and built a charming little balcony garden that was fun to write about. I love my apartment, and when I saw how bright it was during winter, I also knew how dark it would be in summer. I decided the trade was worth it.
Sun in winter is a prize beyond measure for me. Total shade in summer is another thing; great for keeping things cool, difficult for plants. Things were starting to suffer a bit, inside and out. But it was still charming, and the ivy that I had twined around the railings was really taking off. And I had recently spotted a praying mantis, so my streak could hit its...12th year?
Then the notice came that my apartment building was to be painted, and that everything would have to come off of my balcony for 2 weeks.
Everything. Into my dark, dark apartment. For two weeks. Coinciding with a busy, delightful visit from my daughter, who I see way too seldom, AND some new adventures. It was doomed...
To make matters worse, this came precisely at that time of year when I get bored with a garden anyway. I'd much rather think about going somewhere else and getting recharged by the change of scene.
So this garden is REALLY doomed. I'm not being melodramatic; the casualties are pretty severe. I won't even show you. Everything is sitting out there right now, wilting. The love seat is still in the living room. Only the truly stalwart will survive (I'll write about them, next time).
I've gotten pretty good at not getting attached to things or places. It's sad, but that's life. I prefer to focus on the opportunity that loss presents: to try again. Things are changing in interesting ways, please stay tuned!