I could smell the balancing breeze rifle through the trees.

With each wet limb the tree struggled more and more to stand straight

Turning your common oak into a weeping willow.

It was gloomy-

But next to me, standing just 3 feet away,

She could feel the drizzle from the sky dancing on her tongue.

Smell the breeze and observe the posture of the trees…

But it wasn’t gloomy to her- it wasn’t a sad broken scene

It was a glorious experience. A spot to search forever.

A spot where the lady bugs thrive

Where the butterflies hide.

It was beautiful-

Entering posed a trial

The overgrown shrubs

The snake of sheer green

The wet snapping of the leaves

The wind blew hard

Entrance granted no more

Back home you go

Garden no more

It looked like a battleground

There were dead leaves and plants

The death took place all around

There were many sights but also sounds

You could hear the plants crackle when you stepped on the ground

You heard the droplets of water on the leaves

But if the garden could speak there would be no sound

It was not a good sight to see

And the taste and touche couldn't help either

The taste was as bitter as vinegar

And the bums on leaves were not a desire.

It was a dark and gloomy this morning

But the smell may have saved the day

It smelled like a new batch of cinnamon cookies

And then we were on our way

With tiny clear droplets

Falling from it

I saw big and small

Leafs, some on the

Ground or connected 

To a tall brown stump

I heard wind whispering 

By me and teenagers discussing 

The same scenery 

I smelled the sweet 

But damp plants 

As the smell of apple

Pie ran up my nose 

I tasted nothing 

But flavored air 

Rainy, plant, apple

Flavored air 

I touched wet leaves 

And tiny clear droplets 

Touched me 

The sprinkle of rain droplets met with my skin

Glancing past the serene glow of the late morning 

A subtle image appeared before me

Dying vines intertwined with flower sprouts

As they slithered along the hidden walkway

The faint rustling of the leaves

Raveled with rain drifting through the wind

Maybe it was the crisp morning air

Or the hint of cinnamon it brought with it

its almost as if i've wondered here before

Getting lost in the secrets of the garden 

I smell dirt and Christmas 

I taste December wind

I feel the ground under my shoes

And 

I touched the door on my way in

Of the secret garden

Purple and yellow flowers danced beside me

Welcoming me into the hidden gem

The sturdy wooden bench urged me to sit

I touched its grained surface

The taste of earth’s dirt lingered in my mouth

I could hear the crunchy leaves

Distant construction machines in the distance

But the sound was meek

A long stem rooted up from the ground

And touched my shoulder

It whispered

You have to go back now

I hoped I would visit

The secret garden again

But something inside of me knew that

It was my first and last

I feel like we both process life through poetry 

So we may as well process death the same way,

Months ago,

I scheduled our "secret garden poetry" day for today;

It's a chance to take my students to the overgrown courtyard in the center of our school.

So we went there today, and I thought about Grandpa and 

I wrote something for him. 

I want to share it with you

If that's okay. 

I also want you to know that I love you and 

That I'm sorry for your loss. 

I hope you find comfort in the sun and the spring. 

The sun glistened onto my pale skin sheer skin. 

Shinning rays will ensure that this would no longer be.

We were no longer cursed by the chilling winds of winter.

Although we know she will come back her whistling winds of snow

Won’t be missed. All that will be missed is the old cardigan under my bed.

You will find me on my tallest tip toes spinning in the bright green grass

taking in every moment of the cool spring breeze. 

The end is no longer near and my fairytale spring has begun.