secret garden...

during the rest of the year, I feel my soul slumber,

trudging through monotony. 

but somehow in the summer,
(especially in the garden)
a spark is lit. a melody is sung. everything becomes poetry. 

in the wisps of the morning air

&

in the quiet spills of eventide

I am gently reminded of the stark difference

between living 

and being indescribably
 ALIVE.

across the lane, is a fence -
quite an ordinary fence at first glance. 
but there is a purpose in the truth of 
always look again, for
within its grasp lies a spot o' earth where succulents grow in every nook and spindly tendrils of wisterias flourish wild amidst the verdure. 
greenery tumbles down the terraces, like words stumble down paragraphs. 
a fountain bubbles cheerily, and little oddities serve different purposes: a tea cup for seeds and a bright blue teapot nobly brims with cheerful yellow blooms.  
in the morning, light splashes airily on the blushing peach-tinted roses 
while in the evening, 
crickets strum their lullaby 
and the cats dream contently in the attic. 

xx | the girl {in her neighbor's} garden