It’s what you can’t see…

nature, Personal Reflection 1 Minute 
my grandmother
drank her coffee black
her eyelids closed
to the morning's glare
and the impossible
barrage of birdsong

on her deck
you were among
the branches
and the flitting
and the shards
of mosaic sky

rosellas
in red profusion
screeched, begging
for seeds perhaps,
or just yelling
about the next train
to Central

as a child though
i liked to go downstairs
the dark, steep
wood of it
and emerge into
mazes

bits of lawn 
between standing stones
an old fish pond
a cast iron birdbath
a trellis of woody rose

the bowing heads
of a prayerful camellia
and a scarlet
geranium running amuck
around the roots
of a spotted gum

it wasn't a big garden
but you couldn't
see all of it
from anywhere

and that was magic

Written for dVerse – Claudia’s “Garden” prompt

Published by abigfatcanofworms

We all walk in the dark. But if we hold hands, perhaps the dark won't be as scary.

Published

36 thoughts on “It’s what you can’t see…”

  2. my grandmother was going blind, but we’d sit in the light at around 4 o’clock because it was at it’s brightest and was gonna sink. We’d look at shadows on the walls… she’d talk about the color yellow, dandelions and daffodils and sunshine.
    Thank you for reminding me of her!

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  7. Sounds like Grandma’s house was quite the magical place. Be cool to go down and explore those mazes between all the plants and the pond and my grandma’s was much the same so many different types of trees in the forest around the hollow that she lived in around the creek. So many fond memories there. And I like my coffee black too. 🙂

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  13. And that is the secret of magical gardens. What is there is the sum of every time you look plus all you have yet to find. It’s what poetry excels at — this one in particular. What a garden path you have taken us down. – Brendan

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  18. This is so evocative! I especially love; “rosellas in red profusion screeched, begging for seeds perhaps,
    or just yelling about the next train to Central.” 💝💝

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  19. The magic is real, the shift in focus from the very small to the cosmic, and the fun little paradoxes, like the all-seeing closed eyes full of love, divine. The prayerful camillias. Lovely

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