Only yesterday the garden was alive with heaps of freshly fallen leaves; like heaps of gold scattered under trees and grasses still so green and lush with moisture it made you want to walk on it and even dream on such downy greenery.
By morning came the winds—cold and bitter. They huffed and they puffed all day long making trees and bushes to shake and drop all remaining foliage. It rained rivers of leaves all day; golden and crimson rivers of leaves swirled around making little spiraling currents like whirlpools. When I came home after work the back porch was filled with hundreds of leaves; large wrinkled leaves from the big grapevine covering it. And the fresh yellow small leaves from the two cherry trees upfront were stiff and dried; most of them gone in the wings of winds. The garden looked deserted and stingy without the leaves on the trees, and all the empty spaces. It was as if I was looking at some other trees and shrubs and some other garden; unkempt and shabbily chic.
So last evening I put in the trash the last of my summer roses—dull and spent, but still offering a last whiff of perfume. It was heartbreaking to think that I will not see these roses again for the next following seven months. Roses from my garden—how magical this sounds to me.
We’ve been juicing daily; being so healthy that it’s almost ridiculous. This juice alone is packed with carrots, beets, celery, spinach and apples for some sweetness. It has helped the amount of grapes we have had on hand—grapes from our organic garden so ripe and delicious...
Another chapter of my life in the garden is closing; until the wheels of time would turn again to yet another year of delight in this little plot I call my heavens. As the outdoors grow colder, the indoors will be my hearth and heart and the cave where to weave new dreams and treasure every memory… and how dear these thoughts are to me.
Once more is returning
And I have a longing to wander.
The leaves may be falling,
But April is calling
And the prim roses beckon me yonder.
For one more walk around the garden
One more memory I can dream upon
Until I dream no more.
For one more time perhaps the dawn will wait
And one more prayer it's not too late
To gather one more rose
Before I say goodbye and close the garden gate.