The garden looked like death its paving limbs its stone paths ribs its ornamental vase empty as a skull. Its sinuous roots were a tangle of dessication its dusty lavender betokened the silver pallor of lips that would never breathe another word nor whisper love nor spit a curse nor pray.
The garden looked like death its paving limbs its stone paths ribs its ornamental vase empty as a skull. Its sinuous roots were a tangle of dessication its dusty lavender betokened the silver pallor of lips that would never breathe another word nor whisper love nor spit a curse nor pray.
In one corner a marble angel stood solitary on a plinth. His expression at once sorrowful
and full of joy. 'This garden looks like death for time dictates all mortals walk here.’
As the deepening dusk gathered fear took hold and I took refuge under the angel’s wings. “Look up †a soft voice whispered. The angel now stood before me one finger pointing to the stars.
I am the gardener he said. Look to the universe. You are never alone. Look back on time as far as the eye can see. Now farther. Let me help you.
So I looked up and found that time rushed past whoosh like a small explosion whoosh like a gentle breath of wind propelling me onward.
So insignificant it was a momentary flash in a filament of eternity.
â€ñTwas then I saw what the angel saw. No more beginnings no more endings. All time come and gone. A singularity.