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My Magical Garden

Poetry By: Ava Rosien
Poetry



We all need a place to escape to at some time in our lives.
My magical place is a spot that now lies in my memory, but one I still visit when I need such a place. I close my eyes and I am there once again.


Submitted:Nov 29, 2012    Reads: 82    Comments: 8    Likes: 3   


I walk a path though the woods to a secret place I know. It is a magical spot where I find solace; a place where progress has not reached and no human, other than me, is there to disturb the tranquility of its natural beauty.

Tall pines and water oaks, along with vines that spread upward, displaying their tiny purples blooms; retreat as I reach the clearing that lies just ahead.

The moist and shady ground carpeted and made soft by bright green moss; while an abundance of ferns grow scattered about, flourishing in the rich and fertile soil. Toad stools, like tiny umbrellas, grow at the base of a large oak tree; rooting themselves in the moss that makes it way up one side. I tell myself it is where the fairies live, wood nymphs that dance and sing when no one is there to see them.

They flit about landing on the huge gray boulders that were once, centuries ago, part of a great mountain of stone that has since crumbled to the ground. Now, one serves as my throne to sit and survey this mystical kingdom that nature has created.

I look down to see a Jack in the Pulpit; a wonder of nature in its simplicity and beauty; catching dew in its tubular bloom. Not far away another plant, Jacobs Ladder, blooms. A garden made by nature and tended to by the fairies. No finer garden could exist; exquisite is its design, without the help of man or tools.

Just beyond the ferns there is a shallow brook that winds its way over slate rocks; forming miniature waterfalls, as the water flows over them. The forest is silent, except for the trickling of the brook.

Wild dogwood trees grow on the banks. A leaf falls gently down into the water and floats like a raft on the surface, around a turn and out of sight. A butterfly the color of a ghost appears; and lights without fear beside me on the rock. Furling and unfurling its tissue thin wings as if to offer greetings to this stranger in its woods. Its greetings given, it flies away to a blossom nearby to drink a drop of dew that lingers there.

Suddenly, a Robin lights on a limb up high and joins in the chorus of the brook's sweet melody. The winds chimes in, rustling tree leaves, and I close my eyes to listen to the symphony that is played for my ears alone to hear.

There, in my haven, I have peace within my soul; my mind has no burdens to keep it earthbound; I float away as did the leaf upon the water. Drifting thoughts of sweetest bliss; I am enveloped in nature's arms; content to sleep while she sings her sweet lullaby. I feel the kiss of a fairy on my cheek; I dare not open my eyes to see her, lest she be frightened away.

alt





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