Archive for Thursday, July 24, 2008

An angel looks over this garden

July 24, 2008

It's a small garden as gardens go; about the size of a child's wagon. It is a Boo Radley kind of plot, where small objects appear from time to time, unnoticed at first.

In the spring, this small drab plot, encircled by a rubber like frame and bordered on either end with round, rust colored lids of some sort - drain covers maybe - seemed to wake from its winter slumber. I first noticed little green spikes pushing out of the soil, followed by yellow buds that swelled and burst into tiny flowers. It was one small clump of flowers in an otherwise barren plot.

Through the spring, I watched that small bouquet bloom and fade into the days of summer. I missed that little bundle of flowers. More so, I think, than the other, larger, more bountiful gardens along the way that bloom, faded and bloomed again with other seasonal flowers.

Then one day, I noticed a dusting of green dots in that little plot and near the border hung a small, white orb of plaster on a little piece of wire. It had some small figure or bug on it. I gave it a glance, stepped over the cat lying in my path, and walked on.

As the days past, small plants - yellow mostly - appeared. The small frame began to fill up with an unmatched assortment of flowers. I watched them grow as spring ebbed into summer and warm days flowed into humid nights on a comfortable walk taken after eight or nine at night.

It was on one of those late-night walks when I paused to step over the cat, lying in my path, and happened to glance at the garden and noticed there an angel or at least the clay bust of one. The figure has some dings and a broken piece but seemed pensive as she looked over the garden before her.

I was startled at first to see her there. I bent closer in the waning light to have a closer look at her. It was then I noticed the inscription on the small, white porcelain object about the size of a silver dollar stuck in the ground in front of her. "Love blooms here."

It was then I thought of Boo Radley in "To Kill A Mockingbird," how he, reclusive and silent, carved a soap boy and girl for Scout and Jim, the children next door; how in his silence, he spoke through gifts tucked away in the crevice of a tree only to be discovered there from time to time by Jim, whose life Boo Radley later saved. In silence, the language of love is beautifully spoken. Here, flowers planted in a rag, tag fashion are watched over by an angel, whose paint is peeling and surface is cracked but whose protective gaze is steadfast and sure. Love, where we least expect it; just like Boo Radley.

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