The days are changing so fast around here; from one day to the next, it almost feels as if I had just woken up from a long sleep. It’s all to do with weather conditions. Climate has a magical wand in his hands and he uses it as he wishes; or so it seems.
It always amazes me how the garden changes from one day to the next through the seasons; and how leaves turn from plain green to vivid colors of gold and red from one hour to the next… you see, only yesterday the garden floor 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 leap and even dream on such downy greenery. But then overnight came frost; tiptoeing the night it came… slowly, it crawled and crept into the garden making all sorts of changes in the anatomy of things.
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 somewhat wild.
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 cherish every memory… and how dear these thoughts are to me.
(Before I say goodbye and close the garden gate - by Sarah Brightman)
That old April yearning
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.