If you plant a seed,
you might not get to see it grow.
But plant it anyway.
Tuck it into the soil like a secret,
a soft act of rebellion
against the noise, the rush, the end.

 

Cultivate the garden—
even if it’s only a patch of dust
beside a crumbling wall
or a strip of cracked earth
near something monstrous,
like the hum of a nuclear power station.

 

Carve out this space of peace
with weathered hands
and patient silence.
Let driftwood be sculpture,
let shadows be welcome.
Let wild things arrive uninvited
and stay.

 

Derek Jarman tended his garden at Prospect Cottage
as if the world depended on it—
and maybe it did.
Because there, among the salt and stones,
something bloomed
that still holds.

 

His garden is still being tended to.
By strangers who understand
that love doesn’t end with absence,
and peace, once planted,
can take root in anyone.

 

So plant the seed,
even if you won’t see the flower.
Even if the rains come late.
Even if someone else
must water it.

Plant it anyway.