Water at their roots, light on their leaves

Its as though the tree is flowering all over again. The Mr Lincoln rose I planted is long gone, ousted by its rootstock which clambers through the branches, glorious, exuberant and careless. 

14th November, 2009

Today the tree and all around it felt solid, business-like.

They have water at their roots, light on their leaves, (and leaves to receive the light), warmth above and below and nothing to fear.

The rose is sending long, ambitious red arms up into the tree. “At last, I can grow!” it sings, thanking heaven for the rains after the years of drought. The water iris is also now reaching up with its tall stems and lazy yellow fingers of petals, palms of petals, held open to welcome any wandering, seeking winged things. The columbines continue, and the stocks and Alstroemeria.

You would not know I had planted a bed of Tasmanian natives! Next it will be the wind flowers, going berserk with water.