Garden of my mind

The garden of my mind is a rich, fertile place, reaching out far beyond me and touching places I can only begin to imagine. Right now it requires sustenance, food of a physical and not just a creative kind. I find myself woken up at 6am by the characters in my new story shouting for attention. Like the persistant ringing of an alarm bell, they wish to speak. Their words and wishes take precedence and scenes form and fade, tumbling one over the other.

Eventually they calm down and let me have a cup of tea. I wander in the garden, cool and cloudy now, admiring the pots and trembling violas. I notice a snail has already nibbled the brand new alstromeria, leaving a silvery trail on the leaves - make a mental note to put gravel on top of the compost (I knew I ought to do it yesterday and was distracted!).

Last night's barbecue lies cold and blackened. Memories of the Easter Egg hunt my lovely son organised. We were frantic, racing across the gravel in search of sweet chocolate surprises. He's carrying on a tradition lasting years. I always organised an egg hunt for family and friends. Now he's taken on the mantle and I'm moved by the fun and dedication he shows. Photographs are posted on Facebook. We are tagged and people smile at our antics.

It's good for the garden to be a happy place. I take so much pleasure in it, becoming an accidental gravel gardener - such a surprising medium for plants to seed themselves down in. The tomatoes are sprouting at last and my addiction for filling every pot in sight with flowers or food is fully indulged.

Getting back to watering the words of a new story and watching it grow now. Even the weeds are allowed to seed themselves in case they reveal a new nugget or direction. All creative worms are welcome here.

Gardening by the light of the moon...

I find myself gardening enthusiastically hoeing, mulching sewing seeds. The weather is perfect for this activity, although the ground is very dry and I find myself wishing for rain overnight to save me (and the water meter) having to do it and for the farmers who must be complaining by now. Rain tonight would mean obscuring the moon, which is full at 03.44 on Monday morning. I'm not very good at planting seeds by the moon cycle, they're probably a bit late going in and will need all the magic of those silver rays to get them started (plus the aforementioned water!). Gardening is more by luck than good judgement in these parts with seedlings and plants often left to fend for themselves for long, dry periods before I make a mad dash out there to save a wilting specimen. I'm in training to walk around the garden at least twice a day, noticing the plight of any brown and curling leaves in needs of attention, plus showing kindness to sundry wildlife that chooses to fly into the conservatory and become trapped behind the double glazing. A well-used bug jar and a postcard of Barmouth comes in very handy at these times. I never thought I had so much to say about gardening! It's blissful to look out over the cherry blossom and early clematis and think that no matter how neglectful I appear to be, it all keeps coming back for more. The scent of laurel flowers - so potent this year - is overpowering and an orange-tip butterfly dances over the border in need of a coat of mulch and water. I return to the seeds of new life, in the hope of eating freshly picked salad leaves very soon and sharing the fat worm I found at the bottom of a pot with the very friendly robin. Happy Full Moon Gardening!