Joli jardin

The taxi pulled slowly up the street at 2:30 and the night was thick and black. The houses in the neighborhood were dark shapes in the mist. There were no signs of people, and one small bird sounded a lonely call.

A van was parked at the end of the driveway to discourage deer from roaming deep into my garden, but I had already heard that it had not been successful. Deer had been daily visitors to my wildlife habitat.

As the taxi driver drove down the street, I surveyed the garden. In the darkness, the plants looked thick and green. The blue salvia beside the driveway had begun to bloom, with flower spikes a foot tall. The passionvine had twined itself along the stone border and climbed up the salvia, wrapping the taller plants with pale green tenrils. The dogwoods spread themselves full and wide.

I stepped into the house and found a flashlight. In the back, the soil on the path was soft and damp. The Hosta albomarginata was tattered and torn, but my favorite, the giant 'Sum and Substance,' had only been tasted. The phlox and the asters were half gone, but the coneflowers were still perfect. The pond was still, waterplants floating beneath the surface of clear water. The buttonbush was heavy with wet foliage and blocked the path. I turned back to go inside.

We had been gone for two weeks, longer than usual. Now we were home, and the garden had never looked more beautiful.