The Round Year

Garden Writing

The year is round. This becomes evident even to the distracted onlooker sometimes in August when the garden comes full circle with the production of seed and then starts to mellow out in anticipation of winter.

It is weird to think of winter when the temperatures are approaching the top of the range, but I always do, because nature calls it in its own ineffable way, there is something about the way the light changes, the shift in the color saturation of maturing foliage, the scent of the wind. This end of season announcement is made even more disconcerting by the fact that, at least in this climate, it is followed by two more months of warm weather. 

The slow cycles of plant life tie into the larger cycles of nature, and then of the world, and then of the stars, and then of the cosmos, and it’s all cycles within cycles all the way out. It takes wisdom and patience to settle into this growing in place while the universe moves around you in circles, but it builds constancy and a sense of belonging to life, instead of passing through it.

Anyway, now that nature’s message reached my doorstep, I’m already planning next year’s plantings inside my head, without even wanting to, like some sort of nesting instinct, only garden related. Catalogs started showing up in the mail, and I saw lilies. I must have lilies. And daffodils. And tulips. And hyacinths. 

Today is perfect, with bright sunshine and fragrant hostas, and balmy temperatures stirred gently by the breeze; the plants are heavy with the weight of harvest and just looking at them makes me happy. The approach of winter used to make me sad, but not anymore. With it comes the gift of another year, also round.