This is probably a ‘dangerously close to being rejected post’ because it’s a late submit. I daresay all the northerners are safely tucked in bed, sleeping the night away.
It’s actually Sunday here in Oz and it’s been an awful week weather-wise, so I despaired of having anything to offer. But then I sat and watched Netflix last night – seasons of Big Dreams Small Spaces with Monty Don.
The Don is my hero – his quiet honesty, his raging enthusiasm for things he loves, his faceted depths and what appears to be gentle humility. Anyway, suffice to say that when he went to Wales to help two young chaps create their vision in the worst weather – rain, more rain and wind – I thought’ Oh what the hell…’ and went out to take a few pics.
Another Saturday and rather troubling at how fast they come around because it means Christmas gets closer faster, and I haven’t cooked anything yet. The garden, my writing, and being a new grandparent all get in the way.
I’ve mentioned our Matchbox garden periodically. It’s a tiny garden that enables us to retreat to peace when we have to go to the city to stay.
As part of the regular gardening blog hop put up by The Propagator, my Six for Saturday are growing in our little matchbox garden in the city. I mentioned once before in another post, that this garden is only three and half years old and was built from scratch. (See Matchbox Gardens)
I wonder, does life become less of an adventure or more as one ages?
Let’s face it, when we’re young, we’re strong, fearless and the world’s our oyster. As we age and our bodies require more protection than they’ve ever had, perhaps we lose that sense of adventure. Or maybe, just maybe, because we are on the downward slope (let’s be honest here), we lose our inhibitions and look for more adventure, maybe even more danger to fire up the sense of achievement and adrenalin levels.