| Sunny Side Up! August 1, 2001 � 2001 by Kathleen Gibson Backyard Beauty a Heavenly Reminder I seldom stroll. Usually I motor on foot, arms bent at ninety degrees and pumping, breathing deeply through the nose, exhaling through pursed lips. Perhaps you�ve seen me, trying to pare down my �writer�s derri�re.� Maybe it�s you who teasingly threatens to stop me for speeding whenever we meet. You would have been proud of me tonight. I�ve just returned from strolling the back alleys of Yorkton. It was nearing dusk, and I meandered slowly down their gravel tracks, my hands in my pockets; just absorbing the scent of thirsty earth soaking in a coveted rain, the rustle of the breeze in the poplars. And admiring the city�s best-kept secrets�its backyard flower gardens. Secret gardens. In my backyard are two pocket-sized raised gardens. I grow flowers and five strawberry plants in one, herbs in the other. But my little gardens, though loved, can�t compare with the artistry I saw tonight. I inspected those other gardens shamelessly, stopping to peer over fences, through cracks. I spied tall blue and purple delphiniums, upright as the Queen�s guard; stunning orange butterfly weed, sleepily nodding poppies, billowing clouds of pink baby�s breath, flaring Angel�s Trumpets. And majestic common mullein, the head-high yellow-blossomed plant�weed, actually�that boasts one of the softest leaves in the world. I touched one close to the fence and recalled reading that years ago the First Peoples used mullein leaves to line their moccasins. Outside a tall fence I heard the babble of chortling waters, but the fence was so tightly built, I had to be content with listening. I imagined the stream tumbling merrily off the rocks, perhaps ruffling the petals of a large yellow water lily in the pond below. Someone was sitting there, I hope, enjoying the falling water. I enjoyed it too. There are landscaped terraces in some backyards, archways thick with Virginia creeper and clematis, pagodas and patios chock-a-block full of blooming pots, grizzled willow chairs and at least one outdoor fireplace. There are fairy lights strung along winding pathways, twinkling like birthday candles on chocolate icing. I wandered so far�looked so long, that by the time I turned home the sun had finished its evening painting and slipped between the covers of horizon and cloud. The trees were set like black lace against the sky, and the fairy lights lit my way. There are no streetlights in the alleys, and little lamps are so much cozier anyway. I hunger for beauty, and tonight I lapped it up, welcomed it as the parched soil welcomed the rain. As I walked, a song surfaced. �This world is not my home, I�m just a passin� through. My treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue�� A reminder to this Christian that I�m but a foreigner here, on a �working visa�, and I dare not clutch too tightly the beauty in my life. It hurts too much to let it go, when it�s time to move...somewhere beyond the blue. But I can still enjoy it� You can respond to this column at [email protected] |