The Garden of My Imagination

In the garden of my imagination
there is a small stone bench, just big enough for
two, a place where we can sit and find
delight in conversation and watch the flowers grow.
Yes, you are correct. My garden grows without the
details of manicure. Pink flowers spill onto the
lovely stone walk. Vines are heavy with blooms that
might otherwise be snipped or sorted. The fingertips of
one plant reach out to those of another.
Too much, do you think? Too animated?
Oh, no. In the Garden of My Imagination, life flourishes.
Come, sit with me on the stone bench.
Watch. Listen. In time your heart will smile
at the sound of laughter hiding among the clumps
of green grass, or at the song the wind sings as she tosses yellow
blossoms into the morning air, blossoms that fall
like confetti at our feet.
Welcome to the Garden of My Imagination.
It is a special place where all lines flow and curve,
where blending replaces boundaries.
I’m glad you are here.
You make it even more beautiful.