Last Friday, I spent a portion of the afternoon at my aunts' house. They weren't there, but I wanted to try to capture some of the iridescent lavender swirls of fantasy that lassoed me in just the evening before.



I've always loved the grounds here. I turned from the rude modernity of a busy highway into an alcove of quiet residences quite apart from that other life. Parking in my aunts' driveway, I opened the garage door and let myself in. There I stood in the dining area, looking out in appreciation. I felt like Mary Lennox just then, with my own secret garden—but I was not the only one eager to drink it all in:



A storm was coming, I could feel the foreboding whispering from the lips of the heavy air. "Just a quick look around," I warned myself, but it was not meant to be. I had my camera and I was in Rappaccini's garden. The vibrant petals burned against the grayed light and the garden creatures—you know, the ones that only come to life when you're not looking, and no matter how fast you turn around you can't catch them moving around—watched intently as I picked my way through their world.



And, I breathed in the sweet fragrance. The wind was picking up, and the fragile blossoms revealed their true beauty as they persevered, showing their strength. The wind chimes picked up, and it sounded to me then, encased in my world of fancy as I was, as through faeries had descended around. My Aunt Brenda put a wind chime on my mother's grave. Mom used to lie awake at night, often unable to sleep with what faced her. One night, she heard a wind chime hanging from the corner of the house, talking to her. She had a moment of divinity then, and forever after referred to the wind chime's tune as "God's Song". I cherish the sweet strains.



But I just can't seem to capture the wonder of it all for you here. These pictures managed to miss the pixie dust shimmering down like curtains around the scene, the smiles I couldn't keep from my face. Perhaps it is a place one mustn't merely see, but experience. Perhaps that magic only comes to life to a girl latching on to that peace and beauty she knew so well from her childhood. Perhaps the camera's eye will never have the focus of mine.