I have a gan-green thumb. Oh yes, I can grow any little herbage in my wickedly fickle garden of irrational delights.
- Foxglove, actually digitalis. A stimulant when the heart is under threat. This towering condo is full up with adjustment disorders; creative compulsiveness, bi-polarism, hypertension, palpitations; anxieties spinning like ferris wheels from three thirtyish to five fortyish a.m. Trepidation hypomania.
- Forget-me-nots grow like weeds in this garden; fear of rejection, yada, yada, yada.
- Daisy’s, of course, with their spikey “pluck-me-nots” house irritations and mood swings. They’re just so darn perky yet crush so easily.
- Lilies, cleverly three lobed, grow from bulbs. Oh my, deep rooted apprehension and fear of being naked.
- Blanket flowers have multi-colored petals, rough edged. They go to seed in spiked balls resembling demented clouds… multiple personalities on crack.
- Columbine. Lovely columbines, curled, fragile petals with tails—definitely self image issues.
- Iris’s so exotic and yet top heavy. Spanked with a few drops of rain, they topple… definitely hyper-phobic.
- Pansies. Need I say more? They somehow, sweetly, mirror a crazy set of inferiority complexes.
Gardening is a soothing, get-dirty-with-nature, feel good exercise. You plant seeds, water them a little and your flower bed fills with blossoms of intense color and scent that lasts a short few months of warm sunshine. Glorious life in full splendor. Having said all this, I think I’ll sleep well tonight. So thanks for a sabbatical from chronic insomnia. I owe ya.