The damaged aeonium shows
every sign of taking root in
the new pot, the new space. And self
seeded stipa makes green tufts to
harvest for a new bed. I have
astrantia seed, and nigella.
The black lily-grass, bursting out
of its own space is ready to be
devided; house leaks trailing out
into the unknown, have copious
off-spring. And the feather-fern, a
Chelsea treasure, is also ready
for division. The vinca, Gertrude
Jykell, has delicately rooted
along its trail, there will be new plants
to nurture. I used to find all this
cyclical-stuff intimidating;
life too close to death, the reminder;
the toiling of the earth.