A FERTILE CIRCLE.

On Friday, July 25, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

'G.M.O. = Grow My Own,'

Hilltop backyards in a warm wave of sudden sunny summer abundance. Rows of crows on roof ridges and chimneypots shift places and swoop over to the sunny side between unpainted stucco backyard walls.

A patchwork of fences, hedges, and washing-lines like an allotment of enclosures painted by Van Gogh. Makeshift sheds, purple drooping buddleia where red admirals flit, settle, and suck, among the arcing heady scented blooms.

Dog barks, child shrieks, hedge strimmers, power tools, and distant strains of outdated music. Seagulls sail in slow spirals high on warm blue air.

With an aerial view of rectangles in rows, and pastel painted diminishing fractals of gable ends. Four side roads ending in allotments and wild yellow iris in deep shade just before the tideline.

Some cycles of seasons ago, clipping a central patch in the long grass, i lay down, squinting into a high sun's hot prismatic glare, contemplating a future garden.

Till, with two sharp sticks and a length of twine

one staking exact centre and with the other describing a perfect twelve foot circle in the cropped grass. A definitive statement in a long untended square grown wild and crowned with a tall crop of waving green.

Taking a straight spade as a cookie cutter, turning the first turf clods outwards from the ring. Matted grass rootstuff, stones, plastic, and shards of glass. A single rose briar stem in the grass. Levering and hauling a buried bulky boulder with a squelch and suck from the wet clay. To be a standing stone, upright like a canine tooth.

But don't forget the magic in a circle. The primal definition of form and field. "With this stick, i make a mark in the soil." Serving the soil with affection in abundance.

Concentric to the four corners, ripples in a pool, and what i did, defies the grid. Seasonally cyclic as a crop circle.

Subsequently slogging the sluggish sods of soil, purging all inorganic relics of rust and bottle tops, degrading plastic and tangles of wire. Separating the wheat from the trash.

The primal form emerging, as in the painting, ANCIENT SYMBOL. Not to mention a mountain of meticulous mandalas of sacred geometry, the east, the south, the west, and the north. Incense, sticks and stones, driftwood off the beach. Chopping and filtering the soil for cultivation, but also really just playing with shapes.

Well, a garden's a painting whichever way you look at it. In that sense, imagining it from above like a canvas. Green brown pattern on the patchwork ground. A circle emerging down below among the grid of parallel rectangles. Serving as a compass and a sundial mound.

Till now, in a sultry shade of a breeze through the flavour of yellow, rustling the willow, the softened ground round the moated mound, and a garden full of diverse large green leaves.

People now reading G.M.O. as, 'Grow My Own', or even 'Go More Organic' and guerilla planting in the steets. In small country towns, planting in any available plot, outside the Bank, the Post Office, the Office Block, the Parking Lot, and all along the towpath by the canal. Spreading from town to town, 'FOOD IS FREE.'

Tend the rambling diversity at leisure and take what you need for free. In the name of intentional pure abundance, and community. It's happening now and that's the way to go, to reap the harvest of the hedgerow.

I pronounce a FERTILE CIRCLE grown to fruition, untainted, wholesome, and unbroken.

It grew all by itself.

It's an earth relief replica of an ANCIENT SYMBOL. The womb of the Mother Goddess.

The same symbol still used today on electronic devices as the 'POWER ON/OFF' sign.

Occurring too in numerous unaccountable crop circles, softly on the wisdom body of the generously ever rebirthing Earth.

The switch from striving, to thriving. From decay and decline, to new rebirth.

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Makes Rainbows<