Wednesday, October 12, 2011
I have decided that visual poetry is for me. No more trying to spell correctly, or close enough that spell check can find the word. No, I'm returning to more ancient times and its back to the pictogram for me. Dots, swirls, gestures, rhythm, color and shape become words. As I cut down the garden I find such beauty. The leaves are becoming translucent, almost skin like, while the spent flowers are forming their seed heads in the most ingenious ways. The lines of the plants have softened; things are beginning to droop. And yet even though I know we are almost finished for another year I find great pleasure in preparing the garden for winter. There is 10 tonnes of manure waiting to blanket it.