The other day I woke up and my garden wasn’t my garden anymore. It used to be a small plot of land where grass didn’t even grow, but now it had bushes, flowers, and trees of all kinds: fruit trees, ornamental trees, all of them as tall as the house. It was so full of foliage that I couldn’t see the other end of the place, I had no way of telling how big the place was anymore. But the thing that stood out the most to me was the stone paths. There were three separate ones, starting from my backyard door, and each seemed to take you to a different part of the garden.
Before that day, I had spent a few weeks not coming out of my house, rotting away in my bed until the garden appeared. It took me two days to gather up the courage to venture into it, during those two days I would stare out of the window into the garden, feeling a sense of uneasiness, like any person with common sense would do. But it seems I didn’t have enough of that in me. During the nights I could hear the sounds of crickets and frogs singing and the occasional owl gently cooing. On the third day, I finally went in.
That morning was sunny and as I sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast, I studied the garden and heard the loud sound of cicadas coming from it. It was almost alluring, the way the wind swayed the trees from side to side, the sun finding cracks on the trees to come through and cast its light onto the white stone paths. I finished my glass of orange juice, opened the sliding door, put my shoes on and walked into the garden, choosing the path in the middle.
I looked around, at all the trees and plants that had grown overnight. None that I had ever seen before, at least not in person. The plants in here weren’t native to the area from what I could see, they weren’t native to each other either. A rosemary grevillea shouldn’t be able to grow next to a flowering dogwood but here they were. Their kind, separated by land and ocean, but growing in each other’s shadow in this place.
I walked for a few hours that day and I would be lying to you if I said I found the end of the garden. What I found was a pond with a tree that grew yellow flowers hovering on the side. I turned around after that, deciding it was enough exploring for the day, and went back home. I thought about the garden the whole night, tossing and turning in my bed.
I went back the next day, of course. And the day after that, and the day after. Until it became a routine. The garden had consumed my life. I would wake up early in the morning, pack food, water and a few books on trees and venture into the well-kept foliage. I’d spent hours walking alongside the path, trying to name every tree, bush, and flower I came across. Once the sun would go down, I began the journey back home. That was one of the rules I gave myself at first. No staying after dark. The garden wasn’t an inviting place in the night, even when I could see it had lamps that would turn on all night and light up the place, I didn’t dare myself to go in.
The other two paths were just like the first one, they didn’t lead anywhere special. So far, I have found the pond, and there was a small shrine too, and also an empty field with tall grass. But nothing too exciting. I felt that the most exciting thing I could find would be the end of this place, to hit a wall or a fence, but so far nothing. All there are is trees and a never-ending stone path that curved and went in straight lines like there were no space limitations.
One time as I walked a rabbit came out of nowhere from a bush on my right, it ran across the path and disappeared into the other bushes to my left. I looked into the trees and even though it was clear, you could even see the grass underneath them, I didn’t dare to get out of the path. There was something in the back of my mind that told me to stay away—no straying from the path. That was my second rule.
No taking fruits. That was my third rule so far. There were oranges, apples, mangos, apricots, star fruit, mangosteen, and so many other kinds. But no matter how juicy, sweet and ripe they may seem I never take them; I don’t eat them, I even refuse to touch them. The garden doesn’t seem like a malicious place to me, but it also doesn’t seem like the kind of place that gives without taking something back. There is no reason I should disrupt the unknown.
I’m not exactly sure how many days it has been since the garden first appeared, but I’m willing to bet it’s been weeks. That day I did my usual routine: woke up, had breakfast, packed a bag with food and a few books and went into the garden. I usually would roam for hours, trying to find a new path, and as time went by I started to get familiar with the layout of the place. I knew that a few meters into the left path, passing the enormous silky oak, taking a turn left, you could find the most magnificent and delightful marble fountain with a lady in robes pouring water from a vase. If you walked in a straight line through the path in the middle, without taking any turns, and once you found a group of saguaro cacti you then took a turn right and at the end of that path you would find a wooden gazebo with vines growing on its sides. There were also the pergolas full of green grape vines, or the big rock with a symbol carved on it. All of those places were ingrained in my brain by now, so I constantly went in looking for something new to add to my palace of knowledge.
But after a while, it became more difficult to find new places, no matter how many turns I took, something was stopping me from finding more and even less of the end of the place. You might think that after so much searching around you’d be able to hit a wall or something. It was as if the place kept growing, but it didn’t gain any space. The constant expansion simply didn’t let you reach the end or anything further than what you already knew.
Then, lunchtime came around and I headed to the pond—I usually rest and eat there. It was so peaceful and you had a full view of the sky, not covered by any trees. But this time, as walked through stone the archway that led to the pond, I froze in fear at the sight of a person sitting on the edge of the water. I stood there, not knowing what to do, there was nowhere to hide, I was in plain sight, my only relief being that they had their eyes closed and didn’t seem to have noticed me yet.
I should have headed back where I came from, back to my house. But what the fuck? There is a stranger in my garden. I’m not leaving and letting them stay. So, I put my big girl pants on and walked—very carefully and slightly afraid—over there and stood across the pond opposite from them. Now that I was closer, I could see them clearer. They had long slick black hair cut symmetrically and they wore a sort of robe-like garment with faint reds, blues, and a gold pattern, their face was painted with black lines on the cheeks and forehead.
I stood there, like an idiot; not knowing know what to do or say. So, I sat and continued to stare. Hopefully, they would open their eyes soon and see me. Then, I would have a thing or two to tell them about trespassing property. For now, I will be considerate enough to not disturb their meditation—because God forbid, I confront someone for breaking into my property.
“You’ve spent too much time in my garden.” They suddenly said. I jumped, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. Their voice was like a gentle breeze, deep like the pond and clear like the sky above us.
I broke out from the sudden trance I had fallen into due to their voice. “You’re garden?”
“Yes.” They finally opened their eyes. Completely white, cloudy eyes stared at me.
“This is my garden.” I laughed in disbelief, feeling my voice quiver. How dare they? Trespassing and now this?
“Is it?” they crocked their head to the side, their mouth in a mocking pout.
“Yeah! I live back there, in the house.” I pointed in the direction of my house.
“What house?” they asked. I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out. I gaped at the situation trying to decipher if they were making a fool of me or if they were being serious.
“M-my house. There…” I mumbled, unsure of my knowledge. Was my house actually back there? “Who are you?”
They suddenly stood up in a single swift movement, their drapes flowing with the wind.
“Would you like to walk with me?” said, voice still gentle, and soothing. They offered me their hand. I hesitated but for some reason, I still got up and walked towards them.
Once I stood by his side they began to walk and I followed. We walked in silence along the path, only the sounds of trees rustling and birds chirping.
“Are you God?” I asked in an act of bravery immediately feeling stupid. They laughed, a soft laugh that felt like falling in a pile of cotton.
“Not at all. Would you like me to be God?” they were smiling, I couldn’t stop looking at their smile.
“No.” I shook my head. “I was just wondering…” I felt a little embarrassed now. “If this is your garden, then why is it in my backyard?”
“Why do you think it’s there?” a bird flew by us. “Maybe your house is in my garden.”
“That makes no sense.” I frowned. How could my house move somewhere else? But the same goes for the garden, how could it move, then?
“I think you need to go outside.” What the hell did that mean? A strong breeze flew by knocking a large number of leaves from their branches. I didn’t notice at first but once they started falling, they turned all sorts of browns and oranges. Just like autumn.
“I am outside,” I said, confused. The temperature lowered, a chill ran down my spine and I had to stick my hands in my pockets.
“You are not. You need to go out.” They stopped in front of me and offered me one of those intoxicating smiles while placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You don’t belong here.”
I looked around and suddenly the trees had no leaves, the sky was grey and the grass was yellow. The words that came out of their mouth made no sense to me. If not here, where do I belong?
“It was nice having you over.” They guided me through the path until I could see my house in the distance.
“I don’t understand. I like it here.”
“You can’t be here forever, kid.” They said, in a comforting tone. “Out there can be scary sometimes, right?” they sighed. “I was hoping you would break those rules of yours. The garden is meant to be enjoyed, not feared. Maybe you are not ready yet.”
We were at the end of the path, my house just a few meters away.
“Ready for what?” they laughed, not in a malicious way. In the way you would laugh at a child saying something unintentionally funny.
“You need to live some more first.” I felt their hand gently push me forward. “I hope to see you again someday, maybe then you won’t fear this place anymore.”
I stepped off the white stone and looked back to see them waving at me, that kind, soft smile still on their face. I looked up at my house, an icy cold feeling forming on my chest, sliding down to my stomach and pooling there, making my legs feel like they didn’t belong to me. My heart rate picking up. I looked back, wanting to search for that comforting smile but all that was there were the three walls of my empty backyard.
I looked forward and walked into my house, grabbed my keys and drove to the nearest garden centre.
The cashier was very nice. They gifted me a bag with a succulent print.
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