my secret garden, continued again

To the left of the garden path stands a soaring crape myrtle tree, its attractive exfoliating bark rising up to a canopy of lush branches. The graceful branch tips are laden with large clusters of small white blossoms. To the right, a few tall, straight gladiolus stand like soldiers at attention. A garden flag, depicting a Carolina bluebird, snaps in the breeze. Carolina jasmine climbs up and over an arbor, its graceful tentacles stretching outward, as if seeking another dwelling place. A favorite place is beneath the arbor, where delicate vines dangle and wave softly in a breeze. A small figure of St. Francis of Assisi stands below the jasmine. (He is known as a lover of all creation and patron saint of animals, birds, and the environment.) Beyond the arbor are peonies, azaleas, veronica, balsam plant, and creeping phlox.
 

Around to the left, a patch of oxalis is tucked under an expansive wax myrtle. This large shrub stands before the garden, guarding the privacy of my treasured haven. In front of the shrub, a small angel stands by a rock etched with “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me. Isaiah 49:10”. Just beyond, spider flowers (cleome) and soft pink evening primroses overflow their respective spaces. A large patch of Black-eyed Susans laugh at the sun, while a nearby crop of balsam hides from the afternoon heat.

To the rear of my garden, an old, weather-beaten birdhouse sadly leans in front of a white pine tree. A huge red tip shrub in the corner provides an ample privacy screen. A large grouping of double orange daylilies grow prominently behind unique variegated Hosta. The house borders the left side of the garden, with three Japanese Cleyera shrubs alongside.

Both shadows and sunshine soothe the soul in this place of beauty and rest. Whether it’s in the cool of the morning or the afternoon warmth, my secret garden is my beloved sanctuary. It’s a place of quiet reflection, of calming stillness, of solitary refuge, of fresh perspective, and of soaring praise.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

(from the hymn “In the Garden” by C. Austin Miles