Winter in the Garden

It is sere in the winter light: the hop clings to the vine, the feathers and pods of the autumn clematis catch in the wind. And so winter comes to the garden.

The heart can't help but stir and a garden writer succumbs to the wax of flowered poetics.


There is a light in the winter garden that is like none other. The needles of the amsonia glow along the garden path; amber light hits the witch hazel leaf curl.

And below the surface of the garden pond, fish roam in silent slo-mo...

(But those fallen leaves need to be fished out of the pond, they cannot be allowed to decompose into the water, which can cause a build-up of gases harmful to the tiny pond's fish and turtle.) So, every once in a while there is still some work to be done in the winter garden.

But mostly one sits or stands back and catches one's breath.

Back to Spring

A short clip on YouTube takes us back to the earlier part of the year, showing the garden coming alive: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67U_WRUJFmE

Pokey the red-eared slider slept through the winter, burrowing herself underneath the muck at the bottom of the pond. The fish, four koi and two plain-jane gold, have kept silent company with her, ever since her introduction into their midst three summers ago. She chased me down the garden path the first day she fully awoke. I never thought I'd see a turtle sprint, I knew then that she was truly hungry. So I fed her.

Of late, Revitt McPhee, the bulfrog, has not been heard, but that's not to say he's gone. He boomed his first note and took up residence here last summer.

It's Puggles' thirteenth year, fifth in this particular garden.