My Gaulish warrior is here.
Topknot fastened as usual when he works, he coaxes wild allium out of the flower bed and quietly removes clover; he spies snails and removes them to safer grounds. His movements are unhurried, sure, methodical.
We work on opposite side of the flowerbed.
He tells me about errant turtles he has found recently; an escaped parrot that showed up one day around his home and stayed for two years; a strange rat that used to live right in the bougainvillea, practically above our heads where we are working, years ago, when my mom was still alive.
I ask him about the cry of night birds that sounds so mechanical I am not at all sure it’s a bird.
“Ah! You are hearing our local owls sending invitations to each other up and down the hills,” he says as he looks up at me, a smile in his eyes the color of pine bark when the sun is almost gone behind the mountain. His head slightly tilted to the side, he waits for another question or reply.
“How big are they?” I ask.
“They are hard to see, let alone catch… but I have seen one a while back. They are about this big” he says spreading the air vertically between his hands about a foot, placing the bird in one palm and sheltering its head with the other.
I nod. He looks comfortable crouching on the grass, in his element, and as I watch his hands holding the imaginary bird, then go back to gently pulling at weeds, convincing them to give up bulb and roots, I recognize the gesture of a healer in a blink of Time’s warp and weft.
Petit-duc scops – Photo : Christophe Sidamon-Pesson
unbuttoned or undone 
‘a smile in his eyes the color of pine bark when the sun is almost gone behind the mountain’!
Incroyable!
Tu es vraiment quelquechose d’autre!
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Merci UnElephant. Je suis contente de t’avoir surpris avec une de mes expressions et, a mon tour, je suis surprise par ton enthousiasme, mais je m’en rejouis. 🙂
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Em, I am a gardener now, and I identify completely with your “gaulish warrior” . Care of plants and flowers brings a certain insight and gentleness to the soul. Was not always that way. Really enjoyed this post.
Paul
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Thank you Paul. There is something about having our hands in dirt that is very healing. I think it is difficult for a gardener not to be a bit of a poet. My Gallic warrior is a bard, definitely in the finest storytelling tradition.
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So much peace with nature, convincing weeds to give up bulb and root. Definitely a healer.
I loved spending time, in the flowerbed, with both of you.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Thank you Dennis. It was kind of you to join us and spend a bit of time together. Merci.
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You conjure up a bucolic idyll like no other
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Thank you S W. You are always too generous with your praise. Smile
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S W ?
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Silver Wolf what else could it be?
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Ah. I see. Um. Flattered I think.
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You forgot a conversation or a post some time ago. Smile.
You laughed at the time. It’s all good.
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I think I tried to blank it from my memory actually – even though I laughed.
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Then it is erased Smiling.
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Smiles back. Sweet you.
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Wow, these chouettes are chouettes! I want a Tengmalm to hug and squeeze and love, and I want a moyen-duc to scare small children with.
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Hoo Hoo what a hoot!
I think the eyes of the petit duc are just spooky.
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haha i see what you did there
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I like to see the pictures, whether drawn plainly or by metaphors. I like both simplicity and subtlety, especially together. I’m not a gardener, but I know one.-)
rjb
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You would like this Gallic warrior. He is a man of few words, curious, self-taught and very observant. He loves what he does, the best job in the world, and has yet to meet an animal bigger than an aphid that he doesn’t like.
I am glad you enjoyed the conversation. Thank you.
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