The Secret Garden

It was 1983. Next year my Soul Comforter would be old enough to start school. It was time to take him out of the City, out of the concrete blocks used to house people, out of the smelly air, away from sirens in the night.

We headed for the Mountains and the real estate agent gave us the address.
The fence was tall timber and old green paint and trees hung over it from the other side.
The gate was as tall as the fence - ironwork, old, rusty - inviting.
I peered through it and my heart stopped. My eyes filled with tears.
"The Secret Garden" I heard myself whisper.

I pushed the gate open and took a tentative step beyond, my small son, hand clasped tightly in mine, a step behind me. The narrow path sloped downhill to a building just visible through the overgrowth, which had laid claim to all that had been left there by the long since gone owners.
To my right, the cactus garden was relatively clear - it seemed that it's protective thorns were being respected by the rest of the garden inhabitants. I thought there was another building just beyond that, but the old white rose that was scrambling over it had left little of the structure uncovered.
"I've found it, Narayan - I've found my Secret Garden" - still whispering, as if to raise my voice would disturb something sacred here.

We walked down the path. Slowly, as there was much to see each step of the way.
It was Springtime and the Garden was filled with new growth on the old - it felt very much alive.
Sentient.

Beneath the White Rose another path led off to the right, into who knew what.
It would wait.
At the corner of the path, an old stone plaque proclaimed the words of Dorothy Frances Gurney:
"The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth.
One is nearer God's Heart in a Garden
Than anywhere else on Earth:"

The verse was new to me.
It touched something deep within me and more tears fell.

It was no more than a minute since I'd walked through the gate,
yet I had been there for lifetimes.
I felt like I'd come home.