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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3324 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Roots of Restoration Zephyr It had been a struggle to survive, in the end the natives won. The garden was impenetrable; a mesh of brambles in mortal combat with aged shrubs. Contours of old flower beds were covered in long grass. A drunken old pergola teetered over the flagstones buried under weeds, with no space to fall it stood tall. The rear garden gate swung on a single hinge and creaked in the prevailing wind. Water iris and a lily clung to life in a leaky pond which sprouted a mix of moss grass and brambles, these lay on a thick mat of old roots. A water boatman and a newt paddled about on the stagnant surface. A rustic garden seat had succumbed to rampant woodworm and decay, in front of a dilapidated shed where old spades, scythes and rakes had rusted away. We didn't find the old well until we felled the overgrowth. The supports for the winch had toppled into the well, a bucket lay where it fell, in a tangle of cable next to an old rusted handle. We open up the well, thirty feet down, glimpse a prehistoric scene. Wild creatures frolic in the cool water. A family of newts, blink in the light, this garden is their nursery and home. then I found an engraved stone tablet, it read... The kiss of the sun for pardon The song of one bird for mirth one is nearer to god in a garden than anywhere else on earth. |
