A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." -Elbert Hubbard

Moonlight scuttles across shadowy corners. The beams pass over secret hiding places hurriedly, much like important people who have places to go to, meetings to attend, before heavy veils shift over her pretty face, and she scurries away. Wavy stems and withered sunflowers stand in a corner that looks as though it has not been explored in years. It has the confetti of dry brown leaves thrown over it, and cobwebs stretch out in all their ethereal midnight beauty over the cracked pots and dirty cement.

Here, spiders do acrobatics and gymnastics; the youngsters strut about looking important, and some of the more promiscuous ones giggle and whisper, gasp and moan their ways into other people's hearts.

Ivy is crawling up a collapsing wall. Slowly, it creeps into corners that the old guards can no longer keep, and soon, it will penetrate through, break through, and perhaps see the other side of the garden. There is an old pond next door. It is covered in mildew and moss, but slowly, gradually, it is clearing. No one knows why. Perhaps the cold frost is melting, perhaps it is the herald of Spring that is calling it. Perhaps..

Ducks will once again return to their old nesting place, and come Summer, the garden next door will be alit with life and the quacking of ducks and other such gregarious birds.

There used to be a rock garden where the barren square of soil and dirt is now. They had planned a Chinese garden, but somehow, it did not turn out quite right, and is now more of a little field for duck families to play on.

Sometimes, someone's white feet; feet that have obviously been encased in polished black shoes for most of their lives, will appear in the garden. But their owner usually retreats. The ground is covered in small thorns from dead rose bushes that sometimes rise up in defiance and cut those feet.

However, of late, as the moonlight unveils her lovely face and looks down upon this garden, she will discover that someone is often outside, late at night, watching sleeping ducks and the single, faintly purple lupin that has blossomed in the middle of this abandoned garden. The underside of its petals are slightly pink, tinged with frost, as though it is embarrassed to be the centre of that person's attention....

Dedicated to Des.

last - next