The Garden

The Garden

The yellowed half-moon hung nostalgically above the garden. Sunken into the star-studded black leather of the night; it cast dim light upon the world below. The air thick with silence lay heavy and cold; broken only by the occasional passing car which hurried quickly away down the lane. The wind chimes were silent but the light danced across the cylindrical faces in its silent party.
         The garden was a reasonably large, irregular piece of ground bordering the road on one side; drive way; the house opposite the road and stretching off to the right where a muddy pen of chickens were housed. Large trees populated the front of it: weeping old men in the form of shaggy pines, tall pale skinned birches and short and dumpy bamboos. In the centre the tallest tree stretches. Beneath it, like a golden carpet, lay its leaves, like discarded playing cards. During a light gust of wind the trees murmur to each other before falling abruptly silent again.
         Along the stone path around the garden strutted a cat. Barely visible in near-darkness it walked without caution. It owned this place. The uncut grass brushed its flanks as it passed, dandelions flicking back and forth after it had passed. The distant drone of an aeroplane startled the cat and it gazed, more in curiosity than in fear, skywards. With the distraction passed the scene grew silent and safe again and the cat strutted on.
         Another car passed swiftly on its way along the lane uncaring and eager to be elsewhere.
         In the middle of the lawn a circular island sat - an overgrown flowerbed. Fine stringy vines reached free of the metal guide and strained to throttle their nearest neighbours. Uninvited seedlings fought for a foot hold among the draping flora. Among the centre of the bed iridescent funguses eat away at a misplaced garden spade.