The landlord's "landscapers" are here today. They have buzzed every blade of grass down to the dirt and zapped every last tendril of wisteria from the yard next door that I trained to hang over the fence so we could enjoy the blooms, too. The lilacs have been hacked into oblivion, the roses trimmed back to stumps, and the hydrangeas eliminated just as they had begun to bud. Even the lilies are gone. The lilies. What did they ever do to anyone?
It looks like the end of the world out there.This is the owner's idea of tending our "garden." Some people have no soul. The scene is one of utter devastation. They have gone to war against the roses and emerged victorious. My English country garden is now an uninhabitable planet.
I am the only person in our building who uses the backyard. I prune the roses in the fall, and deadhead the hydrangeas when they have finished blooming so they can make new flowers the next year. I've been encouraging several lilac shoots that had sprung up on our side of the fence, and now they are gone, too. Even the colorful nasturtiums that are so delightful in small kitchen bouquets and salads have been raped by the marauding armies. My mint patch is defunct. I had five or six varieties planted there, all gone. It is an ex-mint patch now. They did the same thing last year at about this time. I hoped it was an aberration, but apparently, it's a habit.
Trees defoliated more than once go into Irreversible Decline Syndrome. Over several years, they die, one branch at a time.
I wonder if there is a human corollary. Do those who have been hurt more than once in relationships close down their hearts so that love refuses to bloom there again? It wouldn't surprise me. There are three men stomping among the plants, loud machines strapped to their backs like suicide bombers. If they touch anything in my flower pots, there will be a murder. I am watching.
