There is a clatter of brightness trembling trough the branches, as pillars of light fill empty spaces with fragrance. Rose bushes stand deep in grass , cobwebs breathe between in olive trees where memory lingers in a feathered breath of bird.
The earth is fragrant with past seasons and what was there before . Unknown is everywhere but there is no pace outside today.
The sun behind white clouds smiles on blooming weeds in their unhurried spaces. They let the wind of world fly through not concerned about arriving.
Uncertain as a poem, the gardenβs voice, sometimes a sweet twitter, sometimes a whispered echo, each word spoken spinning its own meaning through earth and silence.