Well, perhaps not quite right, ordinary brown snakes.
They think they are welcome to hang out in my shed.
They haven't got the story right, they are not welcome there at all.
Now I open it with caution, asking is there anyone inside.
I remove my hat and sunglasses to get a good look inside.
Yep, there they are a wiggling, and jiggling all about.
I close the door, behind me and leave a parting word.
If you really think you are welcome.
Please wait for your invitation, I will pop it in the mail.
Please don't hold your breath while waiting.
I might be lucky enough and you will all expire.
I'm not a happy camper, I cleaned my house today.
In fact I'm really, really quite angry.
If I wasn't such a lady, I would say it another way.
Don't tell me you like Summer, I have my broom in hand.
Well, it only starts tomorrow and I'm over it right now.
Anyone who says they like it, may get a jolly good beating.
This old witch, just doesn't ride who broom.
She could give you quite a clout.
The dust may clean out, with a good sweep and mop.
But my poor old mop-top tree, has been snapped off.
So don't tell me you like the summer, the wind and all the dust.
This Old Witch, is feeling evil, so just watch your step.
School reunion, long time since I started, long time since I left.
It was nice to have a catch-up, to laugh and have a chat.
To compare just how we used to look.
Then wonder where all the years went.
Why didn't we keep in touch.
As I wander round my garden, it's like a little catch-up.
Without the little chat.
There are plants here and there, that came by way of cuttings.
So there is a little pot of Gracie, a rose from Marg.
Also the bits I've borrowed, also the bits I pinched.
There are trees that came as thank-yous'.
Gifts in rememberance.
My garden is a catch-up every single day.
Do I need a new "Do",
No not the snip and colour kind.
Perhaps I need another "Do",
One of jam and cream and scones,
Throw in a little music and a visitor or three,
The garden has gone all natural, its truly run amok.
The gardener has been slack and lazy and doing other stuff.
She needs to be reminded there is stuff to do outdoors,
The thought of a "Do" a happening somewhere down the track.
Just might get her off her backside. Get her back outside.
And tackling all that stuff.
It has come around again.
The Town Show is here again.
The kids will be busy, Making floral saucers.
The patterns going round and round.
The big people, will be checking out their gardens,
To find the very best, the competion can get very fierce.
Everyone is vying for that trophy.
The very "Best in Show",
The biggest, longest carrots, the roundest reddest beets.
The best looking rose, the best bunch of this and that.
And on and on it goes.
But if we do not enter and want to really win,..
You know, we wouldn't have a Show.
It's here, it"s on the sky is quite a buzz.
That little band of voluntees have done a bonza job.
Lots to see if you look above and lots to see below.
Problem here, but small I know.
But needs some thought and much consideration.
I have my laundry to hang out, while they fly up there above.
Now I am in a little dither.
Do I hang my not so small, "smalls" out there.
For all to view and see. Will they think they are and SOS flag.
Flapping in the breeze.
Yes, Air Show time again, the town will be abuzz.
They will be flying in from near and far and passing just above.
I wonder what my garden looks like, from way up there above.
Can they see the weeds I've missed and all the chores not done.
Or do they see it looking nice and neat, nothing left undone.
I could book a flight I suppose, and check it out myself.
Or perhaps I'll get my broomstick out and fly up in the air.
I could get a birds eye view.
If I hover just above.
Am I odd, Yes, I hear some of you, I know doesn't matter.
Have been known to have a chat with a good looking tree or two.
Well, Why wouldn't you.
Have been known to apologise while pruning.
For your own good, better for your health and wellbeing.
Yep, those plants understood.
Yes. well you know I give verbal praise to all bees and butterflies.
As you should.
Today as I stepped back onto a patch of nettles.
I muttered Oh Whoops, I am sorry, as they bit me on the butt.
I was taught to be polite, as we all should be.
Or am I just plain Odd.
The knee high boots have long gone.
The mini skirt layed to rest.
Laps past the Town Hall Dance, to check out the talent.
Back past the coffee drinkers, down past the pub.
All so long ago, all part of the past.
But, no this old girl is still cutting laps.
Down past the Lemon scented gum, up round the Hakea.
Lap after lap she can cut, round and round she can go.
The mowing here goes on forever, and ever
But so do those memories of long ago.
Yes, this tonic is working its magic right now.
Playing Xavier Rudd in the garden, Yes it understands his lyrics.
Peace, harmony, unity of the planet.
Yep, went along to watch and listen, dread-locks swinging in time.
No, not my graying locks, others bopping everywhere.
Was I the oldest there, well I thought not.
I spied another with looks of fading youth, I wasn't alone.
Whoops, he was an Usher, I didn't really care.
Waved my hands, I stomped along with everyone.
Calling play, Spirit Bird or Follow the Sun.
I didn't care which one. A Man with vision.
Please listen to his wisdom, help our beautiful planet.
While we still have one.
Yes,I say "Hello Beautiful", quite often.
No, not in front of the mirror, saying how damn cute am I.
Don't get all ego-eeee, well I could be proven wrong.
No, don"t say it to the Other Person Who Lives Here.
That's more Hunkie Hansomeness, Brownie points to me.
Notch them up, whatever wayI can.
No, I say "Hello Beautiful" to every Butterfly I see.
I don't know why you wouldn't.
They are all beautiful you see.
Who planted this here garden, Who let it get this size.
It spreads from here to there and further out than that.
Perhaps I need a Unit, a bit of gravel and a pot.
But then I might retire, somewhere down the track.
Then what would I do to fill my time in.
Maybe, I'd get domesticated and even want to cook.
Perhaps I'll keep the garden, and keep really,really fit.
Yes, when I slapped this little gadget upon my wrist.
It took one look at me, and thought itself on easy street.
Perhaps a little wander and amble here and there.
But it didn't know my secret, I had a Victa hiding there.
Well, we go for miles and miles.
We push it round and round.
That FitBit has had a rethink, it is not sure at all.
It has its digits zipping around really really fast.
As she mows and mows and mows.
Yes, the mowing season has begun, there goes my life for now.
The digits on the FitBit are flying round and round.
The digits on the end of my feet are saying,
"Quite enough for now,"
Your namesake is flowering beautifully.
Sweet smelling and so nice.
I like your flowers Oh! so much, they really are a sight.
Now Miss Violet, you are just as sweet and twice as cute as them.
So will I ever get into your good books,
Will I always be known as evil, and not so really nice.
I know your are only One year old,
It's so hard being the bad Nanna, I must really look a fright.
If I try really hard, maybe one day I will get it right.
Love you Miss Violet, xxx
Most people know me as sometimes sort of quiet,
Some people would probably not agree.
I'm usualy found as ladylike.
OK, some perhaps will disagree.
Today I got the mower out, on the count of three.
I pulled and pulled to no avail,it would not start for me.
I held my breath and counted up to three,
Then from my mouth these words popped out.
"I will kick the guts right out of you, if you don't start for me."
Then my boot just followed through, Oh my golly gosh.
What has come all over me.
The mower coughed and shuddered.
It spluttered into life, we mowed and mowed together.
Until the fuel ran out, the moral to this story is
That karma has come and got me, my grass might look magnificent.
But my foot is giving me much grief.
Yes I mean it, hang on there, the winter has just begun.
I am not ready to dust of the bikini yet, sorry joke.
Far to scary, for you to contemplate.
I found "one" solitary daffodil, yep sticking itself right out there.
Now please, I want more cold, I want more fog, I want more of .
Well, I want lots, like reading by the fire, with lamplight.
With endless cups of tea, and lovely grey days outside.
I want to walk in the fog, look at moss and fungi growing.
Not sweat and moan that, it is just to darn hot.
I have a little bird, who is looking for a mate.
I think he wants a Mrs. or maybe just a fling.
All day he checks out a mirror, and primpts and preens with glee.
He wiggles those little tail feathers, winks and nods his head.
I tell him he has know hope in the love stakes,
If he keeps this nonsense up.
He is behaving like one of those Greek Gods,
Just looking at himself, now if I see him in a toga,
A olive branch behind his ear, I will shrug my shoulders
Just walk away, there is no hope for this little birdie here.
Don't you just love it, when Mother Nature says.
Get your gear off, show us your branches
Bare yourself, drop your leaves.
My trees do it so well, the brazen hussies.
A bit of a breeze and a twist and a twirl.
Not a leaf, left to cover their modesty.
Yes, they look fantastic, their branches all bare.
Beautiful, against a grey sky.
They know they look the goods, just to be admired.
Just love autumn, all its colour, followed by all its nakedness.
Don't you just love it, when something debuts in your garden.
When they pop their petals for the first time.
When they stick themselves right out there, for everyone to see.
When they really look the goods, they're are just the bees knees.
They think they're are pretty darned alright, when they decide to
strut their stuff. No coy and bashful petals here.
It's all out there,for everyone to see...
My Hakea has hit the big time.
She has popped her buds,her debut is taking place.
She can now proudly take a bow,she has done the long awaited'
We all admired her with pride. Another happy little garden
tale, from this poor old garden tragic.
No, I didn't wake to the smell of toast cooking.
Not even the kettle boiling.
Not a chocolate to munch on.
Alas, Whoa was me.
But No. don't feel sad for me.
I got the best present a Gardener could ask for.
The sound of rain on the roof,
The lovely sound of splish and splash.
So Mothers Day, was a good one.
I got the best present a gardener could ask for.
I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but is there anymore.
Yes, I still have that rabbit problem.
They don't give a hoot, not an iota or not one tiny bit of respect.
I think I have found the answer, I will show them who is boss.
You are wondering how am I going to get them to vamoos.
To leave my plants alone, to stop their endless scratching.
They will get their little tails a quivering.
When I show them what I've got.
It took me awhile to find her, but she is hanging out here now.
Yes, the meanest looking mumma rabbit .
To scare them all to bits.
I hope she does the trick, that they have nightmares for a week.
While she prowls around my garden.
I hope she can give them all the flick.
I have been wandering, in my away from home wandering place.
Where all is peaceful and really, really nice.
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Where I can paint masterpieces in my head,
Weave stories, in my mind, truth and also fiction.
To be forgotten, when I leave that wandering place of mine.
I wander with a little bit of company, that's is all I really need.
They are called, Solitude and Quiet. I enjoy them quite alot.
They are always there to come wandering with me.
To that wandering place of mine.
Other Person Who Lives Here, has a worm farm.
No, he isn't really the gardener, worm wee liker person.
He is a person of ideas of catching a fish, type of person.
Rare occurrence, but a trier of the fishing catching skills.
I seem to have become the carer, feeder, looker afterer.
In other words, I'm getting a little attached to the worms.
So now the dilemma of what happens when there is one of those
sort of trips planned.
Do I stand there, arms folded in front of the worm farm.
Protecting the little wrigglers, or do I relent.
Let them go to their certain death, so someone can relax and have
some much needed time out.
Another gardening dilemma.
Oh, Lordy,Lordy, Golly Gosh.
We really truly have done it.
With a few clicks there and a few deletes there.
Plus a few words not really meant for print.
We are printed in a book.
So when I am all tucked up in my Nursing Home.
I hope many years from now, I will be able to say.
Did I really live there, did I truly write all that stuff.
Will I remember all about it, or perhaps I will not.
But there will be a copy of "Gardenwhispering".
For anyone to see.
"Where for art there", No it's not Romeo I want.
Where for art there, garden shovel, I am sure I put you back.
Have you up and gone walk about, or done a shovel runner.
I am sure I put you back where all good shovels live.
But your whereabouts right now.
Has become quite unclear to me.
Am I losing the plot, or just my marbles. I'm sure I put you back.
Are you hanging out with the long lost secateurs.
Or perhaps just other stuff.
Is there such a thing as a Garden Lost Property Dept.,
If so, perhaps I need the whereabouts.
So I can go and visit.
Now really, truly, really, is the there a valid reason, why.
Why does it not want to rain on my garden.
Not those little drops and dribbles I am sent.
I want, big drenching drops, soaking in, big down pours.
Do I need Rain Dancers, to jump around and do their stuff.
If that is the case, please pop by, anytime will do.
Come clothed, half clothed or dressed in moonbeams.
Or even sunsparkles, in other words I don't care if you are all
Stark Naked, just as long as it rains,and rains and rains.
This garden needs a large drink.
Nothing Days, love them lots.
You know the days, the ones that aren't Sat, Sun, Mon. or even a
Thursday. Just a nothing day.
A day to do whatever, a real nothing much is happening day.
A don't need to use the brain day.
Play music day, drink tea day, read books day.
A spread manure day, a just a wander in the garden day.
A doesn't really matter day.
Just as long as they still happen, I will be a happy little gardener.
Truly, honestly, really.
I'm far from being with it, this texting stuff is nuts.
I still stick all my comma's in there, even the odd full stop.
Someone sent me ' lol', had to think on that.
Thought they were talking, garden stuff, all about their citrus.
Would you not have thought, lemon, oranges and limes.
Maybe, they were just chucking off at this old gardener.
Who is way behind the times.
But I am getting into the swing of it, getting right up there.
If I send to you. this text, grrrrrrr, nothing more needs to be said.
It is the texting word for "rabbits", they're doing in my head.
What is going on, am I really losing the plot.
Yes, I do the occassional "odd" thing, misplace,
blame others. You know the thing.
Now the garden is doing it to me, confusing me know end.
Look over here, I'm dressed for Autumn.
But just behind me, there is something flowering for Spring.
The calendar says it's Summer, and my sweaty brow tells me so.
But Winter has't shown her face, it is still to jolly hot.
How I yearn for some mist and fog.
But I get the other lot.
I am begging for forgiveness, grovelling you may say.
Is possibly quite right, but I am not quite on bended knee.
You may recall, the Spoilt Black Dog, was blamed for being
greedy. When the salami went missing, from under the said
christmas tree.
Alas Oh! No, I have found it, hidden in the cupboard.
Am I losing the plot, have I lost my marbles.
I have dutifully said I am sorry, many many times.
But he still looks at me, with those eyes as we wander in the garden.
How could you be so mean to even think that of me, he says
without muttering one single word.
So extra bones are on the shopping list.
Until I get forgiven.
Wind. wind, wind nothing but wind.
Gusty, breezy, blow your hat off sort of wind.
All day everday, nothing but wind.
My hat spends more time on the ground.
Rarely on my head.
Need advise, should I buy a bonnet.
You know those ones with strings attached
A tie, down tight bonnet.
Decision, do I buy an Easter Bonnet. Spring Bonnet
Possibly not a Baby Bonnet, no not a Car Bonnet.
Do you have any real good advise.
A wee, while ago we had a few drops of the wet stuff.
That delightful, glorious, delicious stuff, rain.
You might have guessed I like it, and we never seem to get
enough of it. I always want more, greedy I know.
But alas that is the nature of this here gardener.
Like it or lump it, I'm greedy for more.
Why you may ask, just pop out and see.
Everything is growing and as green as can be.
Please send me more, when there is somemore to spare.
I will be ever so grateful and use it with care.
Yes, its is happening, Yes there are nudie runs to be seen.
Those who know me, are saying not a pretty sight.
Those who don't, are you thinking has the old girl lost it.
My beautiful belladonnas, are all out there, bare legs and all.
Love my Naked Ladies, as they strut their stuff.
All getting ready to pop their party frock on.
Getting ready to show us what they've got on top.
Yes, I am a lover of shade, dappled if I can get it.
All those light and shade patterns, dark patches, light bits.
In this garden, I have to search for shade, let alone a dapple or
two, or more, even when I search long and hard.
Can't wait for my trees to grow, all old and knotty and gnarled.
Casting shade, letting in little bits of light, wonderous to watch.
Ever changing, shapes and patterns, with every hint of breeze.
So whoever is in charge of my year book, can you not let it run
out, until I see my trees grow.
All old and knotty and gnarled.
I close the door, behind me and leave a parting word.
