Gardens.

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I dream of gardens all the time. The greenery, the stretched silence that is not exactly silent, harmonious melodies buzzing amidst life’s gentlest reciprocities. I dream of being close to one every time I ponder upon being close to myself, which I assume, is an abundance of ‘time’s.

How it befuddles me what it feels like when I lose myself by the trees. When it is mid-spring and the silk floss trees are groomed in emeralds sparkling against cinematic clouds. I imagine what it would be like if my life was closely intertwined with one garden— my hands in its dirt, fingers closely wrapped around a handful of seeds, digging into the ground, spraying it with water and pruning the wilted parts.



I imagine what it would be like to stand bare feet almost every day on its ground, or cross-legged under a friendly shadow. It would be the perfect kind of aloneness, for I always have conversations in such a kind of solace. Conversations with dreams and reveries to come to life too soon, or maybe not. Conversations with distant parts of myself that haven’t touched the light of the sun, waiting for the open doorways through which the generous rays can run amok to embrace what they have always longed to embrace. It is only a part of nature to give selflessly… and so does the garden give me, with nothing in return.



I imagine myself visiting my dearest garden many a-times, with a divine spring in my step, my hair down and most beautiful attire on, meaning my smile and my grace fully worn in elegant stillness and peace. I
imagine visiting in times of paleness and doubt, clearing the horizons with a receptivity towards revelations and miracles— mere changes in perception.

I dream of a garden; breathing it in, dancing, laughing, crying tears of joy and powerlessness, being born anew in forgiveness and a love so timeless and reverent that makes me want to die. And I remember in my younger years, how a dream of mine was to die midst a garden filled with roses and daisies on summery dusk, my last word a gentle smile of gratitude.

I dream of a garden that lives beyond me— with love ,and only love, keeping it alive.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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