Wild Mountain Thyme
Let my malady bring once more,
the healing scent of mountain thyme,
long lost with the fields of heather,
no fragrance along our cobblestoned roads.
Shire horses and ploughmen replaced by steam,
as we fled our poverty to the factories and the mills.
No more the hyssop plucked from the forest’s edge,
our senses stripped baren,
no pleasure to yield.
Soothe my soul with doctor’s herbs;
sage and rosemary to recall green fields,
that gas works and chimneys have long replaced,
with a life of no relish,
just the drab smell of slate.
If you take me, Lord, pray let it be,
to a heavenly abode of chamomile.
We showed each of the garden members what the sound of plants is as synthesized by a midi sprout, in the hopes that they will connect with the internal life of the plants. Even though we see them stagnant, plants are alive, always moving, always singing, always running with water inside, and music is a great gentle reminder. This sound was created by Midi Sprout.