Category: Writers Block
The first time I saw you in the garden it was a crisp Autumn day. The wind rustled the brittle leaves, the leaves that had changed from greens to golds to browns. The evening sun set in glorious anticipation of the rose, and I held you, precious and almost indespensible in my hands.
But there you were, a tiny rose bud, so small, so vulnerable, so eager to face your dreams, yet needing me to help you take your first steps.
We walked in the garden for many days, laughing, crying, breathing in the air of curiosity. The last day in the garden was filled with the flowers of innocence, their sweet fragrance making me dizzy with anticipation and dread because I knew they would eventually fade away.
Now,the garden is a patch of weeds. Where there once was a meadow filled with sweet clover, now there's only the wind blowing faded dreams up in the clouds.
I would ask you back to the garden, but I don't know you. You're a stranger, a strange being who has lost its idenity. I search for you in the recesses of my mind. I call your name in haunted dreams. But you're gone, and the garden is empty, void of your laughter. Your tears do not water the flowers of childhood, nor the trees of adolescence. Now, you live in a distorted reality, a reality filled with delusions, illusions, and demons. Now, my heart is filled with bewilderment, and I ask where did you go? I will always wait for you in the garden. I will keep the dreams and ambitions for your life close to me. I will sit in this empty garden, sit by waterfalls of hope, and pray you come back. But until you do, I will ask, "Where did you go?"
So lovely a writing Dream Lady with many thots contained..
Reminds me of a couple of rose bushes I first planted when we moved into our new home... they both took off and made great strides until the brambles and the vine of bitter=sweet over run them and for a year or so refused to bloom. One autumn continuous was the work at clearing the vines going all astray...in SpringTime one rose bush started to thrive while the other to its demise had gone...
Your writing speaks of "The last rose of summer," and so beautifully conveyed...wondering if that garden patch were weeded would the roses be given to bloom once again..though the Parallel...can not be missed...for the question remains.. will a Special Stranger, that Last Rose of Summer, be given to return once again?
Connie ~ Grace
That is brilliant! filled with real emotion and descriptively vibrant keep writing .