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Olive branches as wood steaks

Updated on April 25, 2016

Desert Wares and Oil

I was wandering my mind and in the corner I thought of an ancient city, yet to be seen in the sea. It reminded me of the times when my family visited foreign lands and I saw the images in the pictures they took. I was taken by the crown of life in one image, was a peace offering and they had so damaged it I brought it home with my Heart. Many of the images were of men cutting wood down for the Fires to com. Some nuts, I think they were olives were littering the grounds. Strange they collected them in such round baskets in the pictures.

Then with sticks they stirred the oils to a life all their own. I was just looking from my chair and then I brought the images to the couch and gazed, longingly at the sandy fields of the distances traveled. There was stone walls and gates at an old city, many ragged children ran like the days were long and work was in the fields, olives I believe. Not this again, I thought. "I had planted so many Gardens before." I thought it strange how they hand planed the wood with rocks. Well, The worlds they visited always included images of them, that they were not described was for their safety.

The landscape around them was curious, a man was stuffing jars of earthen clay and the dead into the lime stone cliffs near a sea in one. Having been a gardener I knew it good for dehydrating bodies of many animals, and preserving remains of scrapbooks. That last one was for a dear fiend. The sea in one was out of shore and you could barely see an ancient city, half submerged in distance.

Sorry, getting back to the gardens. Many hands working on the fields, and the branches of some trees were bare, some with fresh olive fruits and others figs or a fruit I could not identify. I was rarely fond of fruit trees in the hot climates so I noticed. This small male child with curly hair and dark skin was noticed in many of the images. Strange that they wore just loin cloths, or tunic type things. Perhaps from a period piece.

One photo was the ground and the covering around the trees was, sandy and rock yet there was a living life of unknown creeping under the shade of some of the trees. Had I a loupe I might have been better equipped at identifying it. Well I would have arranged the landscape differently but i was not their gardener in that setting.

In that type of soil I would have looked at neighbors lands to see what would have been best or asked an expert. Many times you travel to other yards to see what works best in the Garden. The children in the photos seemed suited for the environment, so did the trees. I would look in books sometimes for ideas, many different cultivars have strong affinities to the dessert life. I would think a herbal knowledge and medicinal use of some of the trees and ground cover was in order.

I am not sure what the other plants yet near a sea and life of salted water or fresh life would need to be some life. It was hard to tell by the images, there were no images of dwellings, just walls. Well, I was good at hanging vines once and the species there would have snaked like the wood trimmings of the gates of Hell that Rodin had created. Hands and secret messages to hinder the suns, and some words that were never read. Not until later. I had done that burnt offering many times.

Well, gardening takes many hands. It is a busy work that I am not bothered with anymore, I am far too old and much wiser than to meddle in the lives of past endeavors. Things that were, were and never more than they were. Love, though like Caesar would laurel a tribunal of many names and figurative leaves. Not that the land was king once and then we, as I always asked for help and gave neighbors trimmings from the garden, seeds really. I loved gardening though, sometimes the seeds and roots did not take and their was always next planting season. Sunday, bloody Sunday sometimes but that was then.

I learned that gardeners need compost, good fertile soil or a top coat of mulch for the protection of the soil and roots in my climate. It was often that the tender roots of the wasted leaves grew like the wild life they were directly in the mud of the bin. Her only hated complaint was the lilies, and their needs of constant smelling. I think I was taken into another world by that last comment, forgive the writer a tangent. Why I told you that and just not erase it was my choice.

Anyways dessert fair, I would think the wind and sand, the terrain and the people all clad in their wears would need a closer look. Think that they had in times, many, trained and traveled to their neighbors to find new plants and cultivars suitable to the floor. To think deep roots and strong hardy barks were needed.

A gracious lady once with roses around a a structure I did walk with once, then many did show these hands to garden in the tall grass and even in the mud. I was never that in need of gloves, yet I was accustom to the health of other gardens as well, the health of the body. Not that the body is a garden inside and out. Many things in the gardens tool box, many lives to think in the roses, tulips and other landscapes.

I dig mostly by hand, yet large jobs need shovels and some times axes when the trees are ill and in need of return to heaven, their birth homes. I would think that many would think tree heaven, in the mud alive and so it is, they long to see them in life again in their brothers, mothers, fathers sisters's lands. Many old trees were in need of care in the garden's I kept, they like their family species needed company too. I would not dare to dig in another's garden without the word of permission accorded to the rights of gardeners, and kindred forces of nature. That some dig in words is gardening enough and the prying eyes of the never dead are the lines of man now, not of my life here nor there, electric.


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