Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, We walked the wild wood in Penllergare Victorian estate of Dillwyn-Llewelyn River reflections Mud and flood Light and parkland trees Artifice. Cliffs - steps - cuts Lost with dog Over brooks Water over wellingtons.   The carriage walk into the sun The distant sound like sea The cars to Carmarthen. Paul.

Dear Monty, I have a lot of Ivy in my garden, it trails the ground in the borders and scrambles up the nearest available upright, which is its wont. I have just read an article shared by The James Golden on garden movement. Movement not in terms of the wind making itself visible - but in the way a garden changes and plants move through the soil and begin to colonize. A garden only exists in the mind of its creator in the sense that it is the mind that takes the information relayed through the eyes and edits what it sees. Perhaps I see an imbalance or an over dominance of a plant or shrub or tree which needs cutting back to maintain a state of harmony. What I have learnt from the likes of James, Anne Wareham and Noel Kingsbury is that this being in tune with change is part of the excitement of garden making. Allowing dominance can sometimes be risky, but it is good to see what the plants themselves want to do. The sad downside to the fact that gardens exist in the minds ...

Dear Monty, Contempt is such a ubiquitous attitude in our society today. I suffer from it myself. I noticed a neighbour throw rubbish onto the street outside the boundary of his front garden - and I admit I had feelings of dismay and a sense of grudging acceptance that this contemporary world is one of a disregard toward any environment other than the one we 'own'. Why is there no respect for beauty and cleanliness ? Why do we no longer see litter as an eyesore ? Of course I am virtue signalling ; but isn't having a pleasant environment a virtue worth signalling ? This lack of valuing the visual beauty of our environment seems to be a particular problem in South Wales perhaps because of a post industrial attitude to a landscape scarred by heavy industry. But that cannot be the whole story - because I remember neighbours cleaning and washing the steps up to their houses and keeping the pavements clean. Perhaps we expect others to do this for us these days ? The a...

Dear Monty, The river mixes red soil like blood with the clear waters filtered in the depths of limestone. A furious cauldron Thundering under the wooden footbridge. It pounds my ears And thunders in my chest Awakening my slumbering soul. It shouts RAGE ! It hisses DANGER ! How quickly the mind reverts to fear How fast I forget its vast and infinite origin. Resting in the shelter of a porch Conversation reminds me of the potent curse Of knowing both good and ill in the land of the living. Fear ties me up Binding my mind Keeping thoughts small In the confines of Babylon's walls. Whilst drinking coffee I notice seven stars in the crack of the paving beneath my feet I see that LIFE courses like a river through my veins A LIFE without restrictions. Paul