The Inner Garden

Behind the walls of foliage, around the trunks of trees, and inside the sheltered canopy are doorways, pathways, pleasant journeys inside the vegetative mind. Within the gloom, a canvas of painted melodies is continually being created: of plants, accented with soft dabs of the flower; and of illuminated fern gardens offering sanctuary from the heat. In the lower regions, the elusive, cool and soft reflections from the sky, sink downward, adding a glaze of depth. In the deeper tones beneath the hurried surface, on the forest floor, the lives of the blind molds work in the mines of rotting wood. On the fringes, delicate forms of Horsetail minarets call out in prayer with the morning sun; the architecture of a master hand, unseen but felt, is generous to the smallest detail. This is a place of dreams too; silent whispers of air and humid wrappings of heat, where the air is criss-crossed by flights of insects, floating on a sea of air, on humming wings that play a song of gladness and Life. Here too, are Leaves in many shapes and sizes; guided by a higher order, and streamlined to take advantage of the dim light. Every plant fills the spaces, but not with wasteful envy. And in the forest, nothing is wasted; and the various tribes of plants know their place in this Inner Garden.