AN EARLY MORNING STROLL

he garden is always a shade brighter after the first rains. The dew is perfect pearl beading more exquisite than any wedding dress, effortlessly following the curves of the earth. The harlequin beneath shines through, a rich dark grass upon the nurturing soil. Embedded in this soil are the legs of a bench. Simple planks fixed together, weathered by the many seasons given. It is almost as if one could see the compilation of its precious years in the layers of varnish. The water seeps from the bench through my woollen sweater as I sit and observe the garden. 

At this time of day vast silence reigns over the land. A banyan tree, the center piece of this arrangement, stands bathed in the nascent rays of the rising sun and casts a lake of shadows into the grass. A slight breeze sails around it and the aerial roots begin to perform a waltz. The young leaves breathe the hues of green and the promise of the coming season. A bird swoops down in her earthy-toned browns, a vibrant gentle shade that reminds me of the rich woodlands. She hops about through the wands of grass as if the earth were her trampoline. The creature then twirls through the massive branches, perches herself upon the highest one and begins her song. A chorus of never repeated notes is welcome in the quiet of the morning. She is a Nereid, her song mystical and alluring. 

The base of the tree seems like a whole new realm. Two little Mexican red belied squirrels frolic through the forest of roots in their way, they fiddle skip and hop, unconcerned about anything around them.  Around the tree, a copse of cypress pines flank it on one side and a thicket of peaceful bushes stands guard on the other. Aphrodite’s children are birthed in these bushes. Hydrangea festoons through its green mother, opening its petals to the world. 

It is rare to find peace like this, the bliss of the morning. I stand up the damp soil welcoming to my foot and head back home.