A Garden for Pablo: A Garden for Pablo

Tuesday, 9 July 2013

A Garden for Pablo

Tribute to Pablo cat

Despite spending lots of time working in Pablo's garden, I've not spent time recording the development of the garden borders since Pablo left us.

The catkins are a delight but I feel disloyal to our little pal, somehow, by depicting them in his garden. However, life does go on and I need to recognise this and move on also.

No matter how much Portia and Estella become family members, Pablo Cat will always have a special place in our hearts and, even now, I imagine I see him skulking in the borders, hiding in his 'penthouse' flat in the greenhouse and waiting to welcome me home with his own special hello.

Estella reclining

Portia hiding

1 comment:

Wendy R5 August 2013 at 03:16
We welcome Portia and Estella but we will never forget Pablo, Your beautiful garden is a perfect resting place for him and a dynamic tribute to him. Portia and Estella have a wonderful inheritance. wx
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Garden Lore

Who will take care of this garden, who will nurture it?

I will, said January.

I will anchor it to the earth with snowdrops.

I will give it my stone, the garnet.

It is mine, said February.

I will feed it the memory of all that grows.

I will welcome it with amethyst and primrose.

I will coax it with bloodstone and daffodil, said March.

Like a boxer battered by winter

I will lift myself from the frosty canvas of the earth to welcome it.

With diamond and daisy I will seduce it.

I will soak it in shower after shower, said April.

In the yawny earth its seeds will riot.

I will make it dizzy with emeralds

And the fumes of the hawthorn, said May.

It will know of nothing but play.

And I will adorn it with a necklace

Of honeysuckle and ruby, said June.

It will dance to my languid tune.

I will contain it, said July.

I will handcuff it with briar and chrysolite,

Drug it with the scent of roses.

August spoke from the garden’s stillness.

I will weep layer upon layer of sardonyx.

I will teach it the brevity of poppies.

When its bones begin to creak

I will cure it with aster and opal,

promised September.

I will guide it towards sleep with the cold light of sapphires;

For its lullaby I will provide the swan song of dahlias,

said October.

Under the weight of dead chrysanthemums I will bury it,

said November. I will give it a headstone of topaz,

a rosary of berries.

And I will guard its sleep, said December.

On a pillow of moonstone

It will dream of holly and the coming snowdrop.

Brian Patten