the garden outside of time
visitor's notes
As a kid I thought it was a normal garden. Childhood has a way of making the remarkable seem mundane. On my first visit, I scattered a handful of poppy seeds and had hardly started to look for the watering can when the shoots sprang up from the soil. Ramrod straight and each topped with a fuzzy, almond-shaped casing. The buds unfurled, exposing deep red flowers. I stood at the center of this crimson circle and figured it was the ordinary way of things. But the garden outside of time is not beholden to my conclusions.
The garden welcomes me as it pleases. It entrances me such that I scarcely know I am there until after the fact. The nutrient-rich soil gives way to my diving trowel. A cluster a vines snakes up a trellis and offers juicy purple grapes that stain my fingers. In the moments it takes me to wipe the sweat from my brow, a tree a dozen rings wide has emerged to offer shade. At times I wish it could always be this easy, and in the same breath I am grateful to be granted admission at all. The garden outside of time flourishes regardless of my contributions, but something deep within me compels me to make the effort.
Some people don’t believe me when I tell them about the garden. They scoff and dismiss it as a fantasy and tell me to live in the real world - but I do exactly that. I observe the world and I notice what it asks of me and I surrender to the tasks which are uniquely mine. And then, if it is ordained, I find myself standing before a patch of golden daffodils and a bed of roses. There’s a plump sack of seeds in my hand and a smile on my face. I survey my surroundings for the trowel and the watering can. Non-ordinary reality has graced me once again. I offer the garden outside of time my presence and my persistence, and I trust that I too am flourishing.