It has been a while since my last confession. No I am not a convert to Catholisism, should that ever happen you will know that I have finally gone insane. Just imagine having to pop in to tell your priest every now and then, what naughty thoughts you might have had, or what dirty little deeds that you have done. Most of us would need to pop in very frequently I am sure. It always seemed odd to me that as a Catholic you could commit sin after sin as long as you pop in and say sorry now and then. Anyhow, I am not really going to confess or even apologise for thing that I may have thought or done; it would make for very dull writing and even more dull reading.
So spring is here, the grass is growing and my densely unworkable wet clay soil has turned to unworkable concrete. The weeds are flourishing of course and each day the garden reminds me who is boss. There was a time when I could work all day in the garden, but I know that those days are a long way behind me. Nowadays I have to work in spurts of varying lengths and my attempts to get on top of it sometimes feel almost futile. The aim has become to reduce the work that will be needed in the future, and that means a lot of black plastic and slate and gravel to hold back the weeds and eliminate at least some of the spade work.
The flower beds are covered in daffodils and wood anemones, with patches of creeping buttercup and bluebell leaves. Right now it looks fine but within a few weeks it will look what it really is - weed infested.
The garden is a stark reminder of entropy. Order is hard to maintain and has to be worked on. It needs a motive and it needs a concerted effort. Our bodies, our communities, our roads and buildings all require energy and materials in order to maintain them and once that energy is denied, there is inevitable return to chaos.
We have a government that can see no further than its wallet. It is dismantling the vital machines that maintain what we call society. Everything seems to be falling apart, while a few concerned individuals struggle to maintain their own little worlds. Ministers believe in what they are doing and strive to maintain the huge division between haves and have nots, pulling up their ladders as they watch the masses upon which they depend, struggle in the mayhem. They have nothing to confess either.
I am reminded of the words of T S Eliot.
This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
So spring is here, the grass is growing and my densely unworkable wet clay soil has turned to unworkable concrete. The weeds are flourishing of course and each day the garden reminds me who is boss. There was a time when I could work all day in the garden, but I know that those days are a long way behind me. Nowadays I have to work in spurts of varying lengths and my attempts to get on top of it sometimes feel almost futile. The aim has become to reduce the work that will be needed in the future, and that means a lot of black plastic and slate and gravel to hold back the weeds and eliminate at least some of the spade work.
The flower beds are covered in daffodils and wood anemones, with patches of creeping buttercup and bluebell leaves. Right now it looks fine but within a few weeks it will look what it really is - weed infested.
The garden is a stark reminder of entropy. Order is hard to maintain and has to be worked on. It needs a motive and it needs a concerted effort. Our bodies, our communities, our roads and buildings all require energy and materials in order to maintain them and once that energy is denied, there is inevitable return to chaos.
We have a government that can see no further than its wallet. It is dismantling the vital machines that maintain what we call society. Everything seems to be falling apart, while a few concerned individuals struggle to maintain their own little worlds. Ministers believe in what they are doing and strive to maintain the huge division between haves and have nots, pulling up their ladders as they watch the masses upon which they depend, struggle in the mayhem. They have nothing to confess either.
I am reminded of the words of T S Eliot.
