scaly-breasted lorikeets
Dear Ciara,
I am eating a crumbly pastry as I write this, so forgive me if this letter is full of crumbs. Each bite sends shatters of puff-pastry out across the desk like a Jackson Pollock painting. I know nothing of art and he is one of the few references I know. The Organist isn’t here to give me a more original reference, sorry.
The camellia I brought inside a few days ago has begun to die. She has shed a third of her leaves, little dark-green curls like cut hair and fish scales. The front room must not have had enough light for her, so I’ve placed her back outside again. Whether she will recover or not, I'm not sure. Unlike my vinca, my camellia is not dramatic—she is just out of place. How I wish I could bundle her up and send her down to you. She’d look good on your balcony. And she would probably flower for you too!
Speaking of flowers, my cosmos are finally in bloom. They are little bit stunted, but I don’t mind. It is nice to see the garden bed full of red wine, mauve and pinkish-white. Small stingless bees are taking advantage of the stunted flowers, nestling their little bodies between the petals and collecting bags of pollen. I’ve got some other red and yellow cosmos growing too, but they are a few weeks off from flowering. The zinnias are getting big, but grasshoppers keep chewing at their leaves. My sunflower seedlings are getting taller. Lots more colour still to come here.
You mentioned to me in a letter that you want things to feel real, and I’ve been sitting with this thought today as I potter about. I thought about a Dodie Clark video I watched a few years ago. In it, she talks about her experience with disassociation. I sometimes feel things aren’t real either, but I don’t think it’s a symptom of depression for me. I blame social media. Since the dawn of our Tumblr days (circa 2015), we’ve been curating our lives for a digital space. Clearly we've forgotten how to be present in them. I’m glad I use social media far less these days, but I sometimes worry that putting Dear Ciara online has only driven me to curate a museum of my life again.
Now, I’m covered in crumbs and need to clean off. There are scaly-breasted lorikeets calling outside and my budgies are trying to speak with them. Lorikeet and budgerigar must not be mutually intelligible though, because the lorikeets do not respond to their desperate calls. I wonder if life feels real for them.
The song for today:
Before The Line — dodie
Dark and moody. Do with it what you will.
Love,
The Gardener