Everyone dreams of having a secret garden. Well, I have one.
You see, there once was a house that sat in this location. People shared their lives here. Memories were made, time was spent, and a gardener planted a garden. The house is now gone. Trees have fallen where a roof once sheltered a family. And the garden was abandoned. But not quite forgotten. Every year I venture down to that secluded spot to see the secret garden.
Yellow daffodils bloom there. And white irises.
The irises have spread. They now form a thick clump of unexpected beauty that shines bright in the darkness of the surrounding woods. Monkey grass, too, continues to spread. It is so thick no weed dares to sprout in the middle of them.
Last year I transplanted numerous irises from this secret garden. In fact, every white iris in my garden is from this place. Like Sleeping Beauty, briars protect the rest.
Thank you, JG, for planting your garden all those years ago. Though it looks quite different than when your garden was in its prime, the irises still bloom. Even in a forgotten corner of the property, they still delight. Because I know their secret.