Saturday, September 12, 2009

A Garden

I love a garden. Lots of green and pinks, reds, blues; shades of color to delight the eyes, prompt thoughts and entertain the mind. But most of all I love a garden in the early morning when the world is waking up from the slumber of laborious visions and strange memories of far-off places long forgotten. What better way to heal the dark night than with the coming light of dawn. The gentle breezes and waving leaves greeting me gently as I descend from the back porch, entering into the eden like a wayward child returning home from a long, dark journey.
There's a quietness there, sung by the creatures of air and earth. Their song gentle and deep like an ocean of ethereal vapors telling of another place more real than the ghost-like mirror that dimly reflects this reality.
Rain. It counts my steps but erases them a moment later. Yet, the garden remembers my visit. I have left reminders there. A clip here, a snip there. Arrangements arranged yet again. Yes, the garden remembers...and rejoices. I rejoice also. The words of this colored plot are timeless. They enter the eye-gate and live higher than the clouds. They fly up like sparks from a great conflagration. Yet, the garden remains bound, tied, rooted.
There is a guardian here in the garden. Gliding like a black ghost, silently prowling and watching,
she moves gracefully with green eyes. Curiously the guardian inspects and searches out what is hidden, like an ancient monarch searching for truth. She appears and reminds me that I have come back from my journey and am, once again, in a garden.