Secret Garden

“I’m reluctant to share my secret, but being we are the closest of friends, I will share my secret with you. But before I do I’m going to ask you to pinkie swear that you won’t tell anyone else .” Mary looked at me with her big brown eyes like an expectant puppy waiting to receive a treat. She said “ I love secrets, I’m really good at keeping secrets.” With that we intertwined our pinkie fingers and sweared to tell no one. With the pinkie promise out of the way, Mary followed me up the ornate staircase to my father’s library at the end of the upstairs hallway. I live in an old Victorian house that was built in 1837. The hallway has a carpeted runner with delicately embroidered flower patterns on it. There are several bedrooms and one bathroom that my whole family shares. The hallway walls are lined with dark mahogany and the hardwood under the runner squeaks with each step we take. What I like most are the crystal door knobs, they look like huge diamonds. The library is the coolest because it has double doors. When you enter the library there is the lovely aroma of old books. Even with the lights on the room looks gloomy but not in a bad way. I think it has a feel of mystery and adventure. My Grandpa Cliff was the one who first revealed the Secret Garden to me. He brought me to the Library when I was just seven. To get to the garden we had to find a first edition book of poetry written by Lord Byron. Upon removing the book a secret passage is revealed. It opens up to an enormous garden. My Grandpa Cliff and I tended that garden together for almost three years. I was devastated when he passed away last April. I have been tending to the garden by myself for the last 6 months. I have to say it has been an enormous task. I wish I had more time to just enjoy the garden. If I am honest it has been lonely without him. Mary and I walked over to the wall behind my dad’s desk and I pulled out the book “Poems By Lord Byron” there was an audible click and a hidden door slid forward. Mary slipped quietly through the doorway with me and it closed softly behind us. She gasped as we stepped into the garden. Mary was so excited. She looked at me and asked “How is this Possible?” I answered “My Grandpa tended this Secret Garden for over 75 years. It can only be passed from Grandfather to Grandson so my dad knows nothing about it.” I explained to Mary that this was no ordinary Garden, it is a poetry garden. On the surface it looks like ordinary flowers (mind you there are no ordinary flowers) but these are different flowers, when you smell them beautiful poems come to life. The garden is nestled by the stream of inspiration. Next to the stream is a lovely bench that is named “Delia’s Bench”. In fact that lovely bench came to life when I smelled a poetry blossom. I love sitting there when I spend time in the Garden. Mary and I sat there together taking in the view. I explained to Mary that it was my responsibility to take water from the stream of Inspiration and water all the lovely poems. She asked, “Can I help you tend the garden?” I said “Do you really want to?” “Absolutely, that would be so cool.” I explained to Mary that like most gardens there are weeds that can strangle the Poetry plants. Us working as gardeners means that we have to diligently keep them under control. Now weeds in a poetry garden are quite clever things. They are disguised as “Red Roses and Blue Violets” when you smell them you see “Roses are Red Violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.” I call them anti poems and if there are to many of them you can no longer smell all the other beautiful poems. To fully enjoy the garden it’s important to choose the right flower, if your heart is open the flower can pick up on your mood. When it does the petals will blossom so that you are attracted to the perfect poem. Once you smell its scent the poem comes to life. Mary likes mystical stories so I recommended Yanny flowers, they have such amazing imagery. Myself I enjoy a wide variety so I alway pick a bouquet of Angie, Karena, Helen, Ariana and Sharon Blossoms. Sometimes I prefer more classical Gregory flowers so I go to that wondrous part of the garden. Whatever my mood, I can find the perfect blossom to meet my needs. There are so many varieties I can’t begin to tell you all the amazing adventures I have experienced here. Time grows late so I call out to Mary. “Time to go home.” A few minutes later Mary skips down the path towards me. She is wearing gorgeous poems in her long black hair. I don’t think I have ever seen her look happier. It’s so much better having a Secret Garden when I have someone special to share it with. Please come see us, we have picked some special flowers just for you.