Over the weekend I took to some gardening. Despite how fantastical astrology may sound, it hits the nail on the head with my typical Libra woman traits. One of them is that of seeking constant balance. Sometimes I am just not too sure what is keeping me off-balance, then I realise: it’s that dull garden, the crooked painting, that I need a new bread box, the unpolished kitchen sink!

Materialising what is brewing in me lifts it from my unconscious to my conscious. These flowers brought to my consciousness the regeneration of life. I would lose a rose but another like it would blossom; I will quickly forget the withered, treasure the new, and obliviously fail to recall how it had altered me.

I knew my reality was not as simple as the flowers disguised it to be. Was there something deeper to this within me? Something I was seeking to save (or bury). Something I could, simultaneously, hold onto and lose, lose but still have, have and love through its metamorphosis; chasing the sun, dying and being reborn, sleeping and awake.

Whatever it was – new life, new colour, new hope – I knew I needed it planted in my little patio. I needed the roses, the daisies, the French lavender, the rosemary.

Having them in my garden meant I could interact with these agents of life and balance, admire them, love them, hold onto them, while still allowing them to thrive in their natural outdoor habitat – in contrast to watching flowers die in my vase and feeling helpless.

Would these flowers continue to be a living memory of once upon a time… Would the roots spread to tell a story – smelt and heard when the bees dwell on the petals – of the hands that touched the soil and planted a seed of love in my soul; a touch I will one day remind myself how much I cherished.

  Not all things are bound by space and time and good intentions. Some things just are. I planted to ground them.