Welcome to my place.
My place has weeds. They’re my specialty. Nobody could ever accuse me of being a gardener, camellias grow in spite of my efforts.
At times my garden is a reflection of the inside of my head – tangled, with messy dark corners.
I outsource the weeding – that’s the only gardening tip you’ll find here. But weeds make me wonder about choice and control, order and chaos and my place in the scheme of things.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Where do you belong? What does place mean to you in terms of safety, belonging, identity and a sense of community? Is a place more about people than things? More about presence than absence?
