The garden was orderly and perfect once. Ivy grew in tidy lines up a metal trellis, and rows of tulip bulbs made a line of color alongside the old house. So much love and attention had gone into creating this space of flower rows and weedless dark soil.
But years of inattention changed it. The inherent chaos of the wild had begun to creep in slowly. Tiny dandelions and crabgrass sprouted in the fertilizer rich ground, allowed to live with no gardener to say otherwise. The trimmed and shaped rose bushes exploded, growing beyond their planned area into every corner of the garden.
Though it wasn’t much of a garden any longer, as untamed as the plants were becoming. It was a riot of color as flowers grew where they wished or could find room. Soft soil became harder as roots crisscrossed every which way. Ivy grew up and over the trellis to the abandoned house to cover it, roses climbed up the old willow tree, and tiny daisies sprouted everywhere.
But this wild space had become an imperfect perfection that the former sterile rows and flowerbeds could never have achieved. The neglect of human touch had released it from arbitrary constraints and the growing things reveled in their freedom.
Comments