LJIdol Week 7 - Bupkis
Our unreliable summer weather breaks into sunshine, and I decide it is criminal to remain inside our dim house. I go outside and decide I should pay a visit to the back garden for a change. Our garden is divided in two by a frantically growing hedge, and in the front we have the house and the veges and the washing-line, and in the back we have what must have once been a lovely terraced garden of camellias, roses, lilies, fruit trees and rhododendrons. Now, however, all the pretty plants grow in an unruly mess, and the unwanted trees and bushes grow as fast and vigorously as the weeds they are.
I go down the concrete path down the side of the garden and through the gap in the hedge. The side hedge grows well but cannot stay upright so it falls over to create an arch. I bravely bend over and struggle along the path under the hedge, fearful of insects falling into my hair and crawling out of the thick dead leaves. Twigs catch on my clothes and scratch me, and I quickly sweep away dislodged leaves in case they are spiders.
At the other side, a single fern plant is taking up as much space as a small car. The boards supporting the steps up the side of the terraces are rotten and the ground is slippery and muddy. The sheltered spot means the leaves are still wet and they are cold against my bare arms. Rotten apples from the spindly apple tree remain from last year as a sludge. At the top of the stairs I remember that I suspect there are wasps living down here, and I listen carefully for humming, terrified I will disturb a nest and be killed by wasp stings.
The top terrace is forest-like as the trees and bushes have grown so big as to shelter a large, peaceful space. The trunks are interspersed with pieces of old, fragile fence, and it is there that I see something wholly unusual. A continuous section of fence contains a door. It has a door handle, and so of course I open it and step through into the forest on the other side.
Here the sunlight is gently filtered by the leaves, creating a dappled shade with golden light. Old leaves crunch gently underfoot, and a soft breeze whisks through the trees, creating the quiet applause of the forest. Soon I am walking on springy grass as the path turns out of the forest into an open park land. Tiny immature walnuts crunch underfoot and release a spicy sweet smell into the air, and I disturb a pair of bright blue butterflies which take flight and fly away together over the grass.
The flowers growing here and there are amazing - dense petals shaded from bright yellow to deep red, black-edged petals arranged in a white cross with a blue centre, lush hot pink roses with perfume you can smell a mile away, and yellow cushion-shaped petals with red spots that glow like embers. I pick some of them all and carry them with me to an overlook where I can see a great expanse of valley with a braided river running along the bottom of it, glinting in the sunlight. The air is strikingly clear, and on the other side of the valley hills rise before towering mountains, which are topped with snow even now. I drink in the view, and a cool breeze soothes my hot skin and brings with it earthy scents from the valley.
Looking down, I spot something shining in the grass. Putting down the flowers, I carefully part the grass and find a small dragonfly, its wingspan the length of a finger. It is dead, but still beautiful, it's wings like the skin of a bubble, it's body bright red with flecks of blue and gold like tiny gems. I pick it up carefully, cup it gently in my hands, and head back the way I came. In the forest, I pass back through the door into my own garden, and I hear the door close behind me.
In the musty gloom I open my hands, and they contain nothing at all. The door is gone. All I have is my garden.
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LJIdol Week 7
I go down the concrete path down the side of the garden and through the gap in the hedge. The side hedge grows well but cannot stay upright so it falls over to create an arch. I bravely bend over and struggle along the path under the hedge, fearful of insects falling into my hair and crawling out of the thick dead leaves. Twigs catch on my clothes and scratch me, and I quickly sweep away dislodged leaves in case they are spiders.
At the other side, a single fern plant is taking up as much space as a small car. The boards supporting the steps up the side of the terraces are rotten and the ground is slippery and muddy. The sheltered spot means the leaves are still wet and they are cold against my bare arms. Rotten apples from the spindly apple tree remain from last year as a sludge. At the top of the stairs I remember that I suspect there are wasps living down here, and I listen carefully for humming, terrified I will disturb a nest and be killed by wasp stings.
The top terrace is forest-like as the trees and bushes have grown so big as to shelter a large, peaceful space. The trunks are interspersed with pieces of old, fragile fence, and it is there that I see something wholly unusual. A continuous section of fence contains a door. It has a door handle, and so of course I open it and step through into the forest on the other side.
Here the sunlight is gently filtered by the leaves, creating a dappled shade with golden light. Old leaves crunch gently underfoot, and a soft breeze whisks through the trees, creating the quiet applause of the forest. Soon I am walking on springy grass as the path turns out of the forest into an open park land. Tiny immature walnuts crunch underfoot and release a spicy sweet smell into the air, and I disturb a pair of bright blue butterflies which take flight and fly away together over the grass.
The flowers growing here and there are amazing - dense petals shaded from bright yellow to deep red, black-edged petals arranged in a white cross with a blue centre, lush hot pink roses with perfume you can smell a mile away, and yellow cushion-shaped petals with red spots that glow like embers. I pick some of them all and carry them with me to an overlook where I can see a great expanse of valley with a braided river running along the bottom of it, glinting in the sunlight. The air is strikingly clear, and on the other side of the valley hills rise before towering mountains, which are topped with snow even now. I drink in the view, and a cool breeze soothes my hot skin and brings with it earthy scents from the valley.
Looking down, I spot something shining in the grass. Putting down the flowers, I carefully part the grass and find a small dragonfly, its wingspan the length of a finger. It is dead, but still beautiful, it's wings like the skin of a bubble, it's body bright red with flecks of blue and gold like tiny gems. I pick it up carefully, cup it gently in my hands, and head back the way I came. In the forest, I pass back through the door into my own garden, and I hear the door close behind me.
In the musty gloom I open my hands, and they contain nothing at all. The door is gone. All I have is my garden.
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LJIdol Week 7