To The Garden I March

Trees To Top And Veg Beds To Hoe


   Another bright sunshine filled morning greets us here on this day of June, the light breeze blows across the rich farmed soil, acre after acre of fen grown vegetables that feed the east shimmer and dance on every breath from the north west, no chill in this morning air, no coldness to sadden our smiles, an early start with wide blue skies so clear and still is what we watch.
   For this bead hermit a day of garden play does await with trees to top and hoe to work, a day with nature will cheer his old heart and the sounds of the fen will fill his ears, to rest beneath greengage when tea is cupped he will and thoughts of old garden tales told to that little village boy will once more bring back the odd smile and tear both.
   Dry soil once more lay over these magical lands that rode the damp rains of May, the fen blow will soon return on hot summer day and rich orange sunset will greet the darkness on those long evening hours. Back once more is the season of green hedgerows that hide the sweet grass meadows where the wild flower shows rich bright blooms only to those who know and the mystical brown eyes of the hare will follow your every move until you pass.
   Waters run deep through fen and marsh where reed so tall does hide in great willow shadows and a different world hold tales forgotten, no more the eel catchers silently punt or great barge take reed and sedge to thatchers, now the quiet waters ride the seasons as nature intended, slowly this strange world to some is being lost.