when i step through the gate of libby's garden, with one deep exhalation i leave my week and all it held and holds outside. like stepping into a yoga sequence, the breathing into, letting go, the deepening and grounding, uncoiling and allowing happens in this secret garden. this week company and tea under the verandah were replaced with solitude. after feeding the glass-bead, eyed chooks i began on the artichokes, unearthing them from their shady bed and moving them across the way to a sunnier clime. i had no idea how brittle their leaves can be even when handled with care. carrying them by their feet does the trick. it's quiet this place. even when the cars whizz by on the busy street outside. this is a place of birdsong and whirring wings, the gentle sound of falling leaves and the scritch scratch of blackbirds darting beneath velvet flowered salvias. i climbed the old fruit picking ladder to prune the hakea. stepping up to cut, stepping down and out to look. i collected the prunings with their glaucous, heartshaped leaves and softly spiked flowers for a vase at home, but carried them to the compost in the end. no vase was going to save the now wilted spikes. the physical work feels good. hands in the cool, damp earth, peeled off layers of clothing strung over the wheelbarrow. two hours pass, time to pack up tools. a few photos and a quiet moment on the bench, then time to head out the gate. i gather my waiting week on the other side, leaving behind what is not needed and head home.
