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The Garden
Posted by Rob Bayley
17th May 2011

As I worked the soil, the influence of vivid variegation encompassed, from the central point to the periphery. Monumental trunks supported by labyrinthian networks of twisted roots rose up towards the heavens, their graceful branches held in balletic repose. The sun was ardent, the air touched by a delicate breeze. All those wonderful colours, blending into one, in a manner akin to an impressionist's palette. I applied myself to the task of nurturing all that proliferated around me. The wonder of cross-polination, to the randomly scattered seeds that perpetuate life, propelling this flawed yet beautiful planet onward into all the tomorrows. Readily I anticipate the changing seasons, transforming from the bitter chill of winter, to the new life of spring time, through to the scorching rays of summertime, into the autumnal tones of crisp bronze leaves leaving a meandering path through dense forestation. Presently however, the earth was dry and arid, calling out for much needed hydration. I too was absorbed by this wondrous nature, yet within I was screaming in vain to escape the voices that persecute with such venom, to exist beyond their living hell. All the images and visions combined, to the extent that I was left confused by differing realities. For, if they would recede, then I, as a man dreaming of what nature could reflect, could immerse myself in a world where the knives of auditory and visual phenomena would dissipate, and I could learn to breathe again. To be able to create a sense of equilibrium, wholesome and constant in both form and application.

Despite these trials of the mind, nature has much to teach us, in terms of patience, and the skill of distracting ones's self from those monsters of our collective psyche. Just as the light begins to fade, I look out beyond my vantage point, overwhelmed by the achievements of a few hours, these being in the realms of being real and tangible, for that I am certain. As a new dawn approaches, I will endeavour to maintain some semblance of that balance, as a land of possibilities opens up before me. Another stroke of pigment on the layers of a fragmented canvas.

ROBERT BAYLEY 17TH MAY 2011

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