2 of 61

Write now Article Tools

In and and out of the garden, anointing the fluted calla lilly with with her mandibles. Thorny thistle speak out with their disgust. The garden bees buzzed alive this morning, glistening dew now dried up, and sunlight peaks through the pines, delivering the overgrown garden paths. At only only 5 years old when she first stayed at her grandfathers house. A subtle greens-keeper by day, at night her Grandfather romanced the gardens way on unto the night.

Grandma died before I was alive. I'm not sure if she even really enjoyed the garden anyhow. Grandfathers always kept the garden. We would walk manicured garden paths, and he would explain the life cycles of plants, trees and insects. I'd visit him every summer for two weeks, usually the time the Iris make their first appearances from the ground. Young bulbs split from their elders to re-root and produce even more beauty within the garden. Part of the growing up process.

At the age of 40, I still visit the old house, and my favorite spot, the garden. Grandfather is no longer there, but his years of sweat in the dirt still shine with the Lilacs bloom. The dark paths guide me to the back of the yard, where the mature trees reign strong, and the underbrush blanket out the new blooms. My mind wanders back to my days as a child, and a teen. The place in the garden where I felt my first kiss.

The name didn't matter, and the kiss was something I didn't even know was happening. The only memory was the scent of the Lilly of the valley and the cold shade covering our bodies. Early that Spring I had made an early visit to Grandfathers house. He was working, and I decided to wait for him in the garden. If Grandfather had been home, who knows, I may never had this life I have. It was neither happy, or important part of my life, but just another point in my life and in the garden. My true love was wandering the old paths, letting the overgrown lilacs brush against my mature body. I would do this every year, watching my family pass me by, year over year.

I've never married, I have no children and my friends are all gone away now. The garden is all I have. I moved into the old house, and I tend the old roots and flowers Grandfather once planted. Sunset has almost gone, and summer is winding down. I sit in the same place I had when I was a small child, taking in the scents and memorizing of my past lives. My life is fulfilled, as I drift away into my love, my garden, my Eden.

Learn more about this author, j Cappe.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Memoirs: Love in the garden?
We want to hear your view. Write now!