| Garden Musings |
| A sea plane glides overhead, the engine growling harmoniously with the splattering water fountain in the pond across the stretch of lawn from where I sit in a gazebo. Fresh cedar planks surround me, and the briny ocean breeze wafts in, shifting my hair across my shoulders. The gazebo, for the time being, is all mine. To the east, the sky reveals anxious clouds, but they are far enough off that I know it won't rain tonight. Over the water, westward, the sky is clear. It is dusk - just light enough to see the birds flitting around among the reeds at the edge of the dike, but dark enough to be my own secret world. The gulf islands are misty bumps in a shimmering blanket of soft, shallow waves. The ocean looks almost creamy tonight - thick, soft folds that would support the feather-weight of my existance. I am alone, but not lonely. I hear the voices of people walking along the dike. Their conversations remain a mystery, but their warm voices stretch to my quiet quarters under the raw wood roof of my little gazebo. I hear teenaged slang as some kids hop the fence to steal wood planks for their skate board jumps. I glance over and see the shortest snatch his bottom lip with his teeth as he makes an attempt to skim the gate and fails. Callous laughter trickles from where his friends stand, and he scowls, opting to stay opposite and heave the boards as they pass across. I feel my age as I scowl. Not long ago, it seems, I was just like them - feeling so rebellious and punk for doing silly things like disobeying "Private Property" signs. So cool on a bike with an "I don't care" attitude. Feeling old, I realise how young I really am. Across the lot, built just last year (some still in the process of being built) the houses are designed to be reminiscent a time gone by long ago, but with a modern edge. They are built to look like how we want to remember the good ol' days, not how those days really were. Beautifully manicured lawns and mulch garden beds, neatly arranged to look as natural as possible stretch around me. Thoughfully placed shrubberies, interspersed with bright pink wild rose bushes, grow carefully. The rocks and boulders in the ponds look so natural, yet upon closer inspection I discover they are cement formations - I can see where the artisan's trowel scraped the form smooth. How interesting. This townhouse complex garden - made to look like the houses were plunked into a wile, oceanside field with streams and ponds, fabricated on what used to be a thriving ecosystem, an eyesore to passers by with its overgrown weeds and thorns but paradise to its original inhabitants now shunned from the unnatural structures that obliterated their world - makes me wonder just how real reality is. |