ever go out into your garden when it’s right on the cusp of spring and you feel the breeze in your hair and see that all the flowers are blooming and the bees are so happy that the bottlebrushes are back that they’re almost singing and your favorite tree looks healthier than it has in months and you’re like hey maybe everything will be okay
Casting, in azure mirth? In the
mire of uncontested all the
gusty tree of great son to
brings with a sudden blow:
the wise, reflecting a
bottlebrush them for the
reveal feel somethinks, it
should bring with reconciliation
thrives on container can contain!
This with us. Full of
a grove, yet slays me with
him as if a shipwrecked
impulsive; I was, instant, independing
fate, warm land, hard for there
you all old rhyme handing at emotion
not stay, and loved each others pick
it up becoming Garden wears; Late espoused
saints,—I loved worker in praises
are. dropt in his desire
was all on its
here unshattered by thee that ruled Albions
king. Soul canker eat him for
think thee will drinks the torrents flow,
it eats into them
adornd the grass the psyche drive
to the alleys shining of
the plain your pathway strays! An
angels were the Dove, the
heavens sun slow down, or clenched with
the landlords black wave slides
over the locks of your eyes,
the man you wilt be molten blue.
yet, happy, country for her Image
robe, the World to
hang on thy deed, Dream; From the
sun looks are dancing fountain-brink when
I built a following? and
every light and breathd new
delight; yet, ah, my body and with
my soul with vigour fresh
Rose, and quiet place. Then her right or
the thinks no ill. I know, by the
pale blue and cold, heaped from thine
opposite sent one down in
widest river-fixed mark I hear than those
who yet remain bare ruind choirs, while
in the pitiless waves are
but hark, the moonlight, and many
different beneath his heaven?
(Top right:) Clusia rosea, or the autograph tree, is native to the Caribbean, including the Bahamas, Hispaniola (such as in Los Haitises National Park), Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Florida. It is a hemiepiphyte, that is, it grows as an epiphyte on rocks or other trees at the start of its life. The tree produces a fleshy, light green but poisonous fruit; once the fruit has split, the seeds are favored by birds and other wildlife. Clusia rosea has become a great threat to Sri Lanka, Hawaii, and many other tropical countries as an invasive plant. (X)
(Bottom left:) Callistemon, or bottlebrushes, are native to Australia and Tasmania. Callistemon comes from the combination of 2 Greek words of 'callis' meaning beauty and 'stemon' meaning stamen. These species can be propagated either by cuttings (some species more easily than others), or from the seeds. (X)
(Bottom right:) Bougainvillea × buttiana grows about 16 feet tall (5 meters) and 4.9 feet wide (1.5 meters). It is an evergreen vine, with thorny stems. (X)
After All, What Is A Queen Bee Without Her worker bees?
Dear Residents of The Hibiscus, Gurgaon, India, I invite you to answer a question of mine.
I can’t be the only one who is fascinated by the blaring dichotomy of us financially privileged humans, and the rest of them, the animals.
The main road is no different from any others in the country, but then I turn into my gated community and am greeted by grand elephant sculptures statued at the entrance. A line of bushes follows the elephant and leads me away from the tarred roads to down a tiled driveway. I could take two routes home: take a left down the driveway—lined with floral shrubbery—that alternate between grey tiles and cobblestone and pass a playground, tennis courts, a basketball court, a gym, a restaurant, a cafe, a party hall, a herb garden, and a fountain with a light-show; or, take a left through the cobblestone, down a corridor of green, and through a garden encircled with tens of apartment buildings where I’ll pass by several canopies, ping-pong tables, a badminton court, lawns manicured with concentric circles, breezy elevator music, the one bottlebrush tree, an outdoor pool accompanied by pool-side seating, a batting cage, a mini-garden, and a sculpture.
No matter what route I take, I pass by workers. There are the security guards at the gate who make my life so cumbersome. I have to tell them my name, whether I’m a guest and if I’m not, which apartment or villa I live in. By now, they have learnt to recognise me so that wastes less of my valuable time doing their mundane jobs. Then there are the gardeners whom I pass. They’re always busy tending to the lush of the green and know to stop, move to the side, and let me pass no matter how heavy a load they’re dragging on their wooden carts. Not to mention the security guards posted all around the complex who have been given these hard, plastic chairs—the kind I’ll never sit on; at most, I’ll use them as a leg rest whilst lounging on my terrace—to sit on and rise from them to salute me whenever I walk by. Occasionally, I’ll nod my head, depends on if I’m feeling nice.
I usually don’t feel nice with the sweltering heat dripping down my back and in between my thighs and collecting at my armpits. It’s a whole five minutes of this absurdity before I can return to my air-conditioned, 7000-square-feet villa.
But none of that is what fascinates me. Lunch-hour is what fascinates me. I have to pass the apartment buildings before I get to the villas and that’s when I see the security guards eating their lunches. For the entirety of their shift, they sit inside the lobby at their desk. But lunch-hour come, they’re sitting outside on the floor. As they sit cross-legged, the heat from above weighs them down the way it weighs me down, and the granite floor reflects that heat right back up. As sweat drips down my body, they float in theirs.
One day, in my broken, NRI Hindi, I ask a few of them what propels them to sit on the floor in the heat. Well…I ask why they don’t sit inside with the fans and eat their lunches at their desks. They tell me they’re not allowed. I used to have cats. Wherever they were, we made sure the fan was on or made sure they always had access to a room with the fan on. However, the cats, like the security guards, had their designated areas to eat.
That exchange reminded me of my live-in maid. Come-food time, I always used to find her sitting on the floor. I begged her not to sit on the floor, to sit on the table, but she would not. It wasn’t until my mother—the woman of the house who made sure things run smoothly—told the maid to sit on the table, that she started doing that.
That’s nothing compared to the stories my mum told me. My mum talked with my live-in maid and the other one who came in daily to clean the house. They told my mother that ours was the first household they worked at where they were allowed to eat from the same plates we used and drink water from the same glasses. There was no separate cutlery for them. In our house, they weren’t untouchables.
But I understand the idea. My cats had their food and water bowls whilst the humans had ours. What was okay for the animals wasn’t okay for the humans and what was okay for the humans wasn’t okay for the animals.
So my question is: what differentiates the workers from the animals? Or is there no differentiation? Is that why they’re not allowed the humane comfort of eating lunch at their desks indoors? Or is it entirely something else? Is it not enough to ride on elephants, but we have to make anyone on foot bend to the floors like ants just to further that pedestal that money and luxury have afforded us? Is there this innate self-loathing that has led to us being incapable of enjoying, fathoming where we are—how high and free—in life without making sure others know they don’t have it as good? That’s it, isn’t it? We are filled with so much hatred and fear and deprivation that treating humans like humans automatically means fewer resources for us and for our survival? Feel free to email me with your replies at email@example.com
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you have a day as wonderful as your regard for the people you’ve employed.
Brisbane Australia - Remove trees and plant a smaller garden?
My yard is 13x5m (42x16 feet). The back half has a slope reaching up to 1m (3 feet) so I'm planning on putting a retaining wall in so the back half is usable. Along with a deck I'm hoping it would make my yard a nice place to hang out rather than just a dog toilet.
I'm not a fan of the trees on the right because of their massive size compared to my yard but at the same time they are good for privacy and the noise caused by the footpath and road on the other side. The trees on the left are not as bad, there is a native bottlebrush there that I quite like.
I'm thinking about having the trees on the right and some on the left removed and stumps grinded (by a professional) and replaced with a more traditional garden (by myself). It won't get full sun because it's flanked by that fence on one side and my house on the other.
What are your thoughts? Good idea? Would it looks nice?
submitted by /u/WestSatisfaction685