Flash Fiction

The Garden

The garden was overgrown now. What had once been tidy and organized was now a mess of greenery and flowers growing in every direction, crawling up trees and stone walls, creeping along and across the pebble path, and sticking out from crevices and holes. It was chaotic and beautiful. Paradoxically, her penchant for order loved this garden and all its chaotic beauty.  The part of her personality that did not allow her the freedom to just let go had no control over the way the ivy invaded the garden or the way the purple thyme spread on the lawn wafting a delicious scent that mingled with the confusion of other wild perfumes in the air. And that suited her just fine!

She loved the lizards that skittered along the grass, fast as bullets, and the toads that sang in their deep voices under the shadow of the daisies and the gardenias; the magic flight of the butterflies sipping from the Princess Earring flowers like dancing fairies and the quiet buzzing of ladybugs’  fluttering wings. Sometimes a bunny or two would hop from behind the overgrown bushes with their tiny pink twitching noses. This was a magic world that was only hers and yet, did not belong to her at all, tangible and elusive all at the same time. That garden was like an extension of herself, a side of her that would not be controlled by her need for order and, therefore, a part of her that was at peace with the world.

At first, it had bothered her as she lost control of the weedy flowers and the rebellious creepers. But now sitting there in the middle of all confusion she was at peace. The garden spoke to her in a way that almost made her believe in a better world, a world of beauty and quietness, a world where all her worries and strife dissipated.  Her mind relaxed, her muscles softened and her life became bearable again. Hope flooded her whole being and for this alone she loved her overgrown garden, her refuge, her haven.

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