SECRET GARDEN

A few steps beyond, across gentle undulations of manicured lawn grass,

A sharp precipice overlooks a sonorous symphony of native jungle,

Bursting with revelations of green, brown, orange flora, distinguished by names unfamiliar;

In the armpit of this rapture, a discreet path is cradled,

Scrupulously guarded by the stout lemon tree, its yellow bounties

Pungent after-thoughts in the winsome breeze;

This path, each step guided by lavenders and water lilies,

Descends into the shadows of foliage, winding along the edge of a bog;

This path enters a secret garden, a somnambulistic space undeterred

By place or time, silence broken only by the melodies of bird calls,

And the gentle humming of mosquitoes;

Single, purple ti leaf plant, a punctilious presence in the biomass,

Feijoa tree on its last breath, prefacing the screened canvas of climbing beans,

Threatening to erupt across the vertical wall;

Οver-sized courgettes, discreetly nesting in the soil,

Obscured by the fuzzy leaves of its host, in this secret garden.   

Camille Tuason Mata

Copyright (c) 2013

Manukau, New Zealand

Genteel butterfly clinging on for dear life against the harsh wind

Native plant - I tried finding the species name, but couldn't. Anyone?

Lemon tree standing guard

Bog winding its way through the Burswood subdivision

Metal screen of purple beans threatening to overtake the fence

Beans up close

The wooden bench from where I listen to the musical symphony of birds, insects, and rustling leaves.