The Secret Garden

There is a special someone in my life who is like the secret garden – yes the one that little Mary Lennox found. There is a hidden locked gate, to which only the two of us possess a key. Sometimes I enter and whilst I am entranced by a heady concoction of perfumed blossoms, I am excited to detect that he has been there several hours before me. Fascinated by his touch, I eagerly trace the little clues of his presence. He has cleared away the grisly weeds and behold – a flower of such exquisite beauty. A smitten smile curls my lips with the knowledge it is his gift for me today.

Frequently, I linger in our secret place, a haven for him and I, our fantasy escape from harsh reality….only it is real, it is very real. It holds the same charm for both of us as do the miracles of nature. We sometimes find ourselves wrapped up in the mystery of two hearts steadily entwining, cultivated by the warm golden sunshine of love and the sweet refreshing dew of poetry.

The intimate moments we linger within, sharing the magic of our secret hideaway, admiring what we have become. He and I…we were just two seeds blown along by a vagrant summer wind. We came to rest in a remote fertile plain. There we did grow, and we grew together, into each other, becoming entwined, becoming almost one. He hurts – I ache. I mourn, he is forlorn. We are symbiotic. Our roots have mingled.

Now we reap the harvest our love hath burst forth – first came delicate and aromatic petals that gracefully and flirtatiously filled the skies as they were caught up by spring breezes. Then came buds and verdant green that rapidly expanded into a lush canopy – under which we both shelter from scorching rebukes. Then at last came fruit. In our excitement we have sometimes greedily gobbled each other’s words down, and lazed about in the satisfaction of a full heart. But we learnt some restraint, some self-control, so that we would not let our crop spoil. Now he and I partake of all we need to nourish and satisfy, to energise and strengthen.

Our secret garden, our place where the spectacular occurs, the mysterious wonders of growth – so often imperceptible to the human eye but manifest as seasons march on. Here we are – rather magnificent if you ask me, and yet for our own exclusive enjoyment.

One day…I stumbled into the garden and collapsed in a heap of tears. He was distressed. He tried to comfort me, but I was so bruised and injured I could not bear the touch of his embrace. He had to let me heal and regain strength. I could see the sadness in his eyes, the anxiety that ate at him while he watched over me. All he wanted to do was reach out and draw me into his arms – but my wounds were so tender, it was too much, it was overwhelming. Yet as I sensed his caring attention, alert to my every movement, concerned that he can do anything to alleviate my discomfort, I was soothed by the invisible ways his love was able to stir in me a desire to be up on my feet once more.

He waits, patiently, sometimes a little impatiently, for his cherished flower to recover from the storm that snapped her stem and left her dishevelled and listless. He hopes. He prays. He longs for her to bless the secret garden with her splendour once more. Gradually, she senses a connection to life is threading itself internally. The signs are there. Parched roots penetrating deep, searching for moisture to restore the flow of feelings that used to come forth in abundance. Slowly, she is healing.

Just a little while longer and the two dreamers will be able to hold each other closely, and their hearts will beat as one. In anticipation he holds his breath, and the robin flutters down beside him to whisper into his ear, “Do not lose faith. Wait for her Maker, who knows every living cell of her being, to breathe life and love back into her. She will glow again. Just now she rests and recuperates – do not lose faith in the miracle of love.”

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