Saturday, August 18, 2018

The night garden

Credit: Cielo Noriega
Me, in the night garden...

Do you ever wonder what goes on in the garden at night? I do

Does it happen to you sometimes? I mean, sleep would not come easily, and you turn and turn in your bed—your mind full of ideas and projects you want to see accomplished; all the while knowing that outside stars are twinkling and a cresting silvery moon is smiling down at the garden…

Then all of a sudden you feel all alive inside you; a surge of enthusiasm rushing through your veins and you get up consciously knowing exactly where you’re headed to…

Ah yes, the quiet garden waits bathed in moon dust. Guided by the light of the solar-powered footpath lamps I walk by the sleeping roses and the night bloomers—the moon vine and the lady of the night and night jasmine. They’re not really there—but I know they are.

They have been put under a slumbering spell by Father Winter, and thus they remain in their underground crypt; waiting silently for the first kiss of the sun to wake them up with the unconquerable force of life.

If this was summer, I would be gardening by the light of the moon, weeding and trimming the roses, as I so often do. I want to hear a rustling of wings and the deep hooting of a Great Horned Owl, and I want to detect a puff of perfume lingering in the night air, but the winter garden is nothing like the summer garden is, and thus I must return empty-handed back to my bed…

Oh but wait! I see something—over there! Do you see it too?

The Iris Reticulata—little gifts from my Father scattered all around the garden.

Suddenly, the flowerless garden has turned into a magical place. Delight fastened to the edge of my nightgown, and I’m setting tiny fires with my fingertips.

Earliest of the northern flowering bulbs, the Iris Raniculata is forever associated with spring in my mind. Just looking at these amazingly blue little flowers makes my heart aglow. Suddenly my thoughts take a cheerful turn. One of these days, the cold northern winds will go back to their ancient place and snow will disappear completely, and like happy Irises, I will dwell outside amidst the rose bushes; rooted, contented and part of this amazing flowering little world of mine…

Ah yes, I’m not going back to bed empty-handed after all. My cup has been filled.

About the Writer

Cielo is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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