Friday Fun: Still in the Garden

Yay! Finally some time off for a week! I might even do a spot of emergency gardening (aka ‘keeping things under control’), but I doubt that my garden will ever look as pretty as the ones below, unless I bring a proper professional gardener in.

I have that slightly neglected flagstone look down pat though… From Southern Living.
What a dreamy little place for afternoon tea, from the Tumblr account of A Little Bit of Silliness.
I do have some roses in my garden, but it would be glorious if I could get them to trail around the door like this. From Gardenista.
Now that’s what I call a border. No lupins in my garden though, as they are poisonous for cats, but what a riot of colour, shapes and sizes! From Judy’s Cottage Garden.
Sitting and dining with friends until late… My dream life. From Dreieckchen on Pinterest.

Friday Fun: Secret Gardens Around the World

It’s not just the British gardens that are beautiful, of course. Here are some more hidden gardens all over the world, where you can forget about the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Orchard Central roof garden in Singapore, from Time Out.
My old favourite haunt, the Jardins Secrets Vaulx in Haute Savoie, France, from jardinez.com
Tsitsikamma National Park, Eastern Cape, South Africa, from Travelground.com
Sinkhole in Australia transformed into a secret garden, from Australian Traveller.
Sitio Roberto Burle Marx in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, is not just a fantastic garden but also one of the most important plant collections in the world. From Transfer-Arch.com

Writing Exercise

This was a 5 minute writing exercise that I was set in a writing group, based on a photo prompt.  I’ve been unable to find this picture again, so you will have to take my word for it: it was a beautiful black-and-white photograph of a Cuban woman in white traditional dress, smoking a cigar, looking out of the window.  She is flashing an insolent smile straight at the camera.  Some makeshift flowerpots are teetering precariously on her windowsill.

The thyme is doing well this year.  Grown all over, in a hurry like a virgin about to be married, all ready to jump into the nearest pot.  Majoram, now that was a tricky one, hasn’t sprung the smallest green shoot. Rowdy waste of time. But who said aloe vera would never make it in a tin? Just bore’em and stuff’em, I always say.  Look at it now: it’s tall, it’s spiky, it sucks up my smoke like a greedy suitor.

Speaking of suitors, it’s nearly time for him to pass by again for the day.  He can’t keep away.  He thinks he’s so irresistable in his shuffling walk-by, with his fancy hat, his spit-polished shoes, his thin moustache. I’m sure he can dance and gaze into my eyes for days.  All he needs is a little feeding, watering, to grow into the man he could become. Do me proud, like my plants, every day.

This time there will be a pause in his shuffle.  This time he will look up. And learn to linger.

Blocked

Word by word they sucked it

void of treasure, dry of sap.

The lotus seed burst not into bloom that year.

Bit by bit they chiselled

away at its proud likeness.

How hurtful, how convenient

when friends hurl friends to oblivion.

 

Clenched, jaw-like,

in a world of its own hating,

we shivered with the knowing,

we struggled with the touch.

The gush has settled down into a mere trickle

and mud is silting oddly the channels of delight.

 

We sigh and add more caustic

as inspiration dies.