Ivan's Secret

Looking out through her kitchen window with her hands in the basin, Dana gazed at her garden with a sudden pang of gratitude.  ‘I do feel lucky having such a beautiful home’, she thought.

With her hands turning to prunes while covered in suds from washing the evening’s dishes, she continued to see, not just look, but actually see all of the beauty of her garden.  The fragile yellow poppies which self-seed between the slabbed path, the foxgloves standing tall at the edge of the pebbles, the honeysuckle wrapping itself around the fencing and trees as if it were desperately hugging everything in its growth path.  How proud she felt that the beauty of her garden was all of her hard work over the years, all her own doing and yet rarely did she actually ‘see’ her garden.

On a beautiful May evening, Dana somehow felt a wave of appreciation for all that she had, albeit 18 years of hard graft to get there, but how wonderful she had made her home and her garden over those years. 

Whilst pondering on her accomplishments her gaze moved to Ivan.  Ivan, the grand 300 year old oak tree which stood proud in the middle of her garden.  The very tree which attracted her to buy the house in the first place.  The very tree her children named Ivan when they were just 4 years old, due to the mass of ivy intertwining itself through the old oak’s branches, clinging to its bark and wrapping itself around the roots.  Ivan resides among a mass of floral wilderness which parades its beauty at all times of the year.  In January snowdrops surround the base of the trunk. Tiny spots of purity tilting their inquisitive heads among their rich green leaves. In February the crocuses join them, with their yellow and lilac delicate blooms stretching as high as they can manage with their bulbous tips gently opening to reveal those fragile saffron steamens.  In March comes the invasion of the mass army of daffodils, standing to attention and demanding recognition for their beauty.  Their golden trumpets of sunshine sounding out to all flora, inviting them to join the parade.  The bluebells swiftly take up the invitation to join the daffodils in a springtime ball, which lasts for a whole month.  Understandably both bluebells and daffodils are worn out by mid-April giving way to the wild garlic and the unfurling of the wild ferns.  By May the mass of rotting ...

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Tracy Windross
May 30 2020

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