In two short weeks, my flower beds and garden areas have grown wild. The heat has supercharged the things that could stand it and has intimidated everything else. The delphiniums, early on so brilliantly blue, are gone for the season. The daisies are in fine form but the cone flowers fight a strangling wild vine for breath. The area around St. Francis that was so clean and calm is now a nest of messiness. Tall grasses and wild seeds fill empty spaces and I feel overwhelmed and exhausted just sitting and looking out it. On top of everything, it's hot. And by hot, I mean really hot. I mean Africa hot. Three showers a day hot. Ugh.
Just two weeks ago, I felt such optimism for my gardens. Now I don't know where to start. In many ways, I feel as if my life resembles my garden. My art supplies are still in boxes and plastic tubs. My work space is messy and cluttered. My diet and exercise routine are in shambles. Two short weeks. A weed here, a weed there. And it's out of control. Sometimes it's not even a weed. It can be something beautiful that is in the wrong spot. Wrong place, wrong time.
My garden may have become overgrown in two weeks, but my art weeds have been longer in the making. I don't know exactly why I lost myself. I can look back and see when I stopped writing, when I stopped creating. I just don't know why. Maybe it doesn't matter. I seem to think it matters because surely if I understand it, I can undo it. If I understand it, I can learn how to weed my life.