In the magical garden

The old magical garden is awakening, I’m sure! Trees are unruffling thin arms, and there’s a big eye watching me…   

Gnomes, sprites and elves are stirring in their dens and burrows after a very long sleep spell… even my cherubs and garden statues are slowly coming back to life, as they adapt to their new life here in the north… 

This old garden is a magical place indeed! Even fairytale princesses have been showing up.  They just popped up out of the snow one day and alas... there they were!  Like some magical Christmas bauble ornament.  Where did they come from?  You just have to wonder!

Birds are also finding in the old garden a new dwelling place, and the other day an utmost magical, perfect friend came by to explore the place and see if it was of her likings…

I had never seen a mourning dove such as this one—large, with over fluffed super white feathers almost as white as snow.

She appeared just when I needed her the most, when I was sitting outside in the cold and my heart was heavy and blue with the weight of memories beyond time… 

What a beautiful bird that was!  And how it enchanted my heart.  The sleepy winter garden was suddenly awakened under its magic, and my sad heart fluttered a little bit.  Oh, I hope she’ll stay.

I supposed, thought, not every creature in my magical garden is entirely happy either.  This poor little fella here must be very angry with me for having seized him away from his birthplace and bringing him here.  Can you not tell?

Do you suppose he's giving me the finger?  You take a look again, and tell me!  Well, I wouldn't blame him, would I? You see, he’s a true southern boy, born and raced in the deep south and definitely having a rough time adapting to his new environment. The poor little thing! Who would blame him!  There are days when, deep down in my heart, I myself feel the same way and my soul comes out of me and flies away from me, and I hear it crying silently, and sometimes I even hear it yelling some sad, unspoken words that only I can hear...   

Wind, frigid rain and cold days, they all have a unique song to sing; a song all of their own, and like a child’s lullaby, they sing it, faithfully reminding us that we are back home to where the roses sleep for half a year. 

I need the sun as much as I need food to thrive, I need Nature as much as I need air to subsist, and thus today I bundled up from head to toes and again, went to sit outside in search of my life. And what a wonderful respite that was, what silence, what sad peacefulness.  No roses no nothing, just the quieted winter garden and me--an Adam in Paradise before he had an Eve.

I miss those old, long-limbed trees towering our little white cottage, miss their glorious view above my window. The freedom of blue skies and sunlit woods skirting the gardens where strange, magical noises could be heard all day long.  I miss the colored cardinals and wandering cats, and I miss sitting in the front porch in the middle of winter and still be warmed up by a strong, faithful sun.  The green of trees that never changed colors nor lost their leaves, the scent of the garden in winter and roses in December.  I miss my mother and the days spent by her side.  I miss her song, her laughter, the color of her eyes.  I miss what I lost and what I will have—tulips in April roses in June. I am hopeful and confident that the Great-I-Am will dry my tears and again bring new laughter to my lips.