As I walk through the garden that I have known about and called my own for my entire life I reflect on the varied flora that I have planted or have sprouted of their own volition. There the apple tree that always has a new fruit to taste, some are sweet and easily digested while others sour and hard to swallow, but I try to collect all of the seeds from each fruit so that I may scatter them in new places. Over there is the rose bush with its many varied blooms that I have yet to truly admire for fear of the thorns. In one patch lays two versions of a flower that are in what appears to be a constant fight for the area, one pushing against the other all the while creating a third mixed flower in the middle. In one corner stands a fickle cactus, full of water at times and withered the others. One plant sits under a terrace with a single bloom atop a thin stem, when the flower has been plucked I think the whole garden will feel different. There is a tree that once grew unchecked but which I have recently begun to trim to a more comfortable form. A solitary sunflower that seems to get confused as to where the sun is at times and look the wrong way, even looking toward the ground in extreme cases. One bed is full of an every changing collection of annuals, but some I grow too love so much that I plant them regularly. There was once a cute little bush that grew where a rock now lies; it withered as time passed until it was nothing but a dry, brittle stick. There is even a little pond with lotus blooms and koi that I enjoy looking at. All of this and more reside in my secret garden, surrounded by a wall of cold rough stone that seems to have always been. But I wonder what the gardens on the other side of the wall look like, one day I may be brave and take down part of my wall, and share my garden with someone else.


Sorry, it has been a while since I have written anything, let alone a crappy metaphor for my own psyche! Please no stones! Love...