Clearing a path
19 May 2011 06:18 AM Categories: Writing prompts
We moved from the place on West Street before her clematis could take hold. In her absence, the vine shrunk, it browned with neglect, and if you drive past the house now, almost 30 years later, the only evidence of her prowess with plants is the gorgeous cherry tree out front, double-blossomed, a cloud of pink and a hail of petals for a brief time in the Wilmington spring.
Our backyard is all weeds right now, Bermuda grass and nutsedge. The sourgrass has had its season and the flowers and herbs I planted last year have survived the winter, mostly. I have plans, to choke out the bad stuff with layers of newspaper and mulch, to put a couple of raised beds in the sunniest spot and fill them with compost and manure and rich rich soil and grow vegetables, but I can’t seem to get up the energy or interest.
I could interpret this as a strike against domesticity, that this year for a variety of reasons I can take no pleasure in sinking my hands in dirt and coaxing fecundity out of barrenness. Or maybe I really am depressed, overwhelmed, stuck in place by this heavy sadness, and all it will take is a season of fainting couches and constant tears, a cultivation and purging of my emotions through the various therapy appointments, and all will be well. Or maybe I need a mental path cleared by antidepressants, though my fear is that the path will be trampled, will be clear cut or burned or – and perhaps this is worse – that the drugs will do nothing but dull my colorful thoughts.
Sometimes I can fake it: our front yard, a slab of tinted concrete, is alive with pots. We planted strawberries and sugar snap peas and carrots, and the herbs are flourishing. The flowers in front of the fence look good, too, so that if you drive past our house or approach through the front, you might think: life here is mighty fine. But on the porch, last year's plants have foundered, the pots run dry much of the time, and although the snapdragon is making a bid for life (and I think she’ll make it), the coleus have given up and I haven’t had the heart or inclination to replace them. All that remains are their browned stems, the skeletal remains of what flourished last year.
From a photo prompt of a paper cup with a flowery vine juxtaposed with leaves.
I'm posting every messy Round Robin prompt, a prompt a day until the RR ends. Unless I tell you otherwise, this is the original 12-minute prompt edited only for clarity and typos. Just realized this is the second post in five days that has mentioned making a path, the open path, and so on. Clearly I feel a need to move forward.
Image: The resurrection of the snapdragon. At some point I'll tire of the atmospheric Hipstamatic prints.
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