When the leaves have fallen, the last of the roses have died eventually on the odd bush, the potted geraniums have gone to slime because we forgot to remove them before the frost, and the bulbs are still nestled snuggly under the compost, all may seem dead and there is not much joy to be had in the garden.
This poem by Denise Levertov allows us to look afresh at the life around us. Gardens and the countryside are not dead, but sleeping, waiting to reinvigorate us once again, come spring.
She speaks of all things involved in a mystery, not just gardens. Take heart from her words, and the final line says it all. God, the creator is always present.
Primary Wonder by Denise Levertov.
Days pass when I forget the mystery.
Problems insoluble and problems offering
their own ignored solutions
jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber
along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing
their coloured clothes; cap and bells.
And then
once more the quiet mystery
is present to me, the throng’s clamour
recedes: the mystery
that there is anything, anything at all,
let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,
rather than void: and that, O Lord,
Creator, Hallowed One, You still, hour by hour, sustain it.