Stepping Out

The gravel of the walkway shifted under the soles of his shoes, and responded to each step with its constant crunching and clacking chatter. The throng of gray and white raised their voices in deliberation, discussing matters of import that had been left unsaid for days.

This conversation ceased momentarily as he arrived at the garden gate, resuming in occasional murmuring as his feet shifted while he reached his hand out for the iron bars before him.

Dew hung precariously off the curves of the vine shaped metalworking that filled the spaces between the parallel vertical bars that gave shape to the gate. Dew that glistened off the black as it did the relaxed finger-like blades of grass, and the still sleeping, drooping leaves of the bushes and trees that would soon shake off their slumber and begin their slight and subtle reaching toward the sun in praise, worship, and sustenance.

Cool damp greeted his palm, while the gate sighed a creaking yawn, with which the gravel harmonized, and a deluge of dew, however brief and fleeting, joined with silent, staccato notes.

The chit-chat of the path began anew as he crossed the threshold and passed into the garden proper.

Smaller paths branched symmetrically off the main thoroughfare, weaving their way through the mirrored greenery. Veins to carry one through the plantscape and a guide to anyone choosing to become lost within the waist high labyrinth.

The maze was contained within walls of hydrangea, fluffy arborvitae, and black lace elderberry. Emerald walls bejeweled, Faberge-like, in pinks, blues, yellows, and purple. Opulent splendor for the towhees and bushtits that frequented the garden, and the scurries of chipmunks that called the labyrinth home.

Swaths of flowers lined the paths. Elegant and intermingling like ballroom dancers dressed in their finest satins and velvets. Nobles from various houses, setting aside their differences to bow and courtesy and dazzle anyone so fortunate to set their gaze upon them. Dahlias send their Dukes and Duchesses, while Billy Buttons are represented by Barons and Baronesses, and Counts and Countesses wield their formal Sword Lilies.

At the far edges of the garden, the sweet and suckling vines that climb and hide the red bricks and gray mortar have already summoned the tribes of Swallowtails, Cloudless Sulphurs, Spring Azures, and Snowberry Clearwings who congregate with hymns on fluttering wings.

An orchestra of trumpets, both lavender-blue and peach-pink, reach over the walls and sway joyously among the arching pink of weeping cherries, while warblers and vireos rest in branches and red-shouldered hawks spy for any sign of life to scuttle out from the bushes below.

Continuing his journey forward, he took the right half of the circular split of the path that surrounds the stalwart fountain that stood at the center of the garden, and let his finger tips brush along the velvety matte surface of the outer lip of the granite basin.

Stone koi spat their endless streams down into the residence of the living koi who choreographed their play, dressed in the richest of golds, purest of whites, and strengthening reds and encouraging oranges that rivaled even those of the sun that, as the pinks and purples with which it had stained the sky faded and gave way to azure, had now begun to spill its clarity and brilliance on the entirety of the scene.

Centered once again, the man was greeted by the inviting grin of the raised front porch adorned with hard carved rocking chairs and suspended ferns that dangled fronds like the legs of octopuses.

Three groaning chuckles from the cedar met the man’s ascension up the steps to the porch which offered muffled good mornings as he crossed the surface to the silent, fastened door.

He knocked and waited.