I am a keen Word Gardener. It’s something I started during lockdown, giving me many pleasant hours in the garden planting new thoughts. After some sunshine and rain, my little ideas began to sprout. The first leaves of imagination appeared.

They soon grew into healthy snippets — and from there, eventually into full-grown articles. I was able to harvest fresh-plucked sprigs of poetry and prose whenever I wanted to tuck into something digestible and good for my soul.

How sad it was when autumn came, and the plants in my word garden started to shrivel away. At one point during winter, I felt lost for words. The word potatoes kept me supplied over the long, cold, dark nights, providing sustenance and warmth in comforting stories. But I missed the sharp tang and occasional sweetness from the late summer word herbs.

As spring peeped…

Is anyone still reading this? Because I’m not going to make myself look a fool if there’s no one there! I mean, I don’t mind spending valuable time trying to think of word and gardening analogies if someone actually reads the thing.

Anyhow, we’re almost there.

As spring peeped its eyes open, I planted the seeds of suggestion for the new year. I’m expecting a bumper crop to set on the table before you. This year, I might also plant some real potatoes, which will make a change from eating my own words.

​I hope all our word gardens will do well this year.  Another year of planting seeds and enjoying the fruits of our labors.