This is the time of year when hate comes into the garden. This is when the garden starts to be untrue and unfaithful to the gardener. In spring it comes alive and shows it is as in love with the world, as the world is with it. Spring in the garden is for love, full of love, only for love. Not so in the autumn.
Indeed there is, but the betrayal starts now, just before summer’s end. The vines growing ever faster with more leaves popping out as if it knows its time is short. The shrubs and trees which were so full of life with active birds nesting ceaselessly tending their brood and bees busily humming ever-conscious of the need to feed the hive. Now the nests lay silent, the birdhouses on the porch which were noisy all spring are now abandoned and a scattering of bees search for the dwindling nectar-yielding flowers.
They feel a loss. The trees do, the shrubs do, even the birds and bees do and most certainly the gardener does.
And the blossoms, the perennial and annual flowers ever-blooming during the growing season, now their blossoms are few and far between and those which remain are fading and setting seed. Those seeds will ripen and with a surreptitious nod fall to the ground or blow off into the wind in preparation for the autumn blanket of leaves which will keep them cozy all winter long.
Any connoisseur of nature will see the way the garden prepares for the separation. The garden perhaps doesn’t wish to leave the gardener, but it will, for it must. T’is what happens when seasons change. The changing seasons, like a fickle, capricious mistress, steals the garden away from its true love.
Love and hate, hate and love, they come together in the garden. The lover who leaves you must be hated, after all...at least until he comes back.