I know that T.S. Elliot’s poem The Wasteland isn’t about gardens. It is idiosycratic, densely symbolic and ultimately about beauty and meaning in a modern world in ruins. Kind of appropriate for the way things seem in the world right now some times…but my post is about gardens in early April.
In that way, I always think of these lines when out in my garden for the first time each season…
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.