A week before dad left he hired a young lady, Ms. Drasden, to tend to our backyard garden. Ms. Drasden is a petite, elegant woman with long red hair and emerald eyes. I don’t know much about her except that she speaks a Ukrainian dialect and was born in Greece, so she says. I do know though, that she is a marvelous gardener. The only thing that seemed strange about her is that she never lets me watch her working in the garden. She usually locks the back door when she goes to tend to the garden, and she reenters through the front.
Our flowers have never been so vibrant and radiant in color since she arrived. The garden lies in back of the house and is surrounded by marble, Roman pillars. The path that leads from the back door to the garden is also made of marble. Recently, Ms. Drasden added some stones on the side of the pathway leading up to the garden. The stones had some unrecognizable symbols carved into them. When I asked her what they were for she said, “The stones in the garden are the stones of the heart. The symbols represent the past, present, and future of recognition. When the vibrant rose is dim, she will fall from her grace and into torment”. What the heck was she talking about? “Are you quoting Confucius or are you trying to be confusing”, I said with a giggle. She didn’t see any humor in my incomprehension. “You will soon see for your soul to be content; the garden will serve as a gate from our realm to another”, she said in a dark tone. I could not understand what she possible meant or if she was even speaking English. I didn’t know if she was being poetic or grim. Little did I know that the garden would change my life forever.
0 comments:
Post a Comment