when there is no wine have some tea

My sister always asked me why I had to walk around my garden with a glass of wine.  Why couldn’t it just be tea or sparkling water.  Tea? Sparkling water?  On a warm summer day after you have spent three hours weeding, potting, replanting.  Mowed your own lawn… wearing that awful surgical mask (I’m allergic to grass).  After all that hot sweaty work.  You want a glass of wine, a very cold, almost icy wine in a very beautiful glass with a long stem.  Very thin glass, delicate.

You shower quickly put on a clean crisp shirt, a little makeup.  And then you pour a nice Reisling, or Sauvignon Blanc and you walk out into that garden, the lawn smelling like watermelon, the roses and lilies, the irises, all driving you crazy with their beauty.  And you walk like a King surveying his kingdom. But instead of beautiful ladies in waiting you have a dazzling array of ethereal beings in pinks, blues, lavenders, yellows, chartreuse, salmons and orange.   The lawn like a sheared lamb waiting for your footsteps.   And you walk and walk and walk around your suburban plot that is more dear to you than Beatrix Potter’s Hill Top.  Because it is yours.  And you pour the fragrant wine down your throat and feel the coolness rushing down like clean water from rivers long ago…

I wonder often, what does clean water taste like?  Really clean pure water from two hundred years ago?

That was some summers ago.  I look out the window and the wind is blowing.  The leaves are gone from most of the trees.  The smoke bush is still hanging on– a deep purplish mahogany.  A lone rabbit munches my grass and clover.  Oh I wish I had some wine– a Bordeaux something very old and good.  Wine smelling of earth and mushrooms and old wet leaves.   I would join that rabbit and wander around in my still Kingdom and enjoy even the cold wetness of it all.  Maybe some tea….but I won’t walk around the garden with it.

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About O

I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I think the world is crazy and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world. What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long, though sometimes they act horribly, and fight and squabble over the birdbath, seeds, and space just like people. As do other animals, and sometimes you wonder if anger, violence, greed and chaos, really has to be part of life, and why. I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, fame, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. Whatever your garden is and wherever it is. My garden always gives peace, delight, calm, majesty, and beauty. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
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