The seventh day

The garden's owner came around the corner, whistling cheerily and bearing wicker baskets of bulbs. The talk was gentle - of mulch and winter and bulbs and the exquisite shadows the bare trees are casting at this time of year.

Being here and taking photographs is like a walking meditation. Have I said that before?

As I left, Tiny was guarding her garden and the precious vessels of spring.

The sixth day

I went to the garden seeking solace and solace is what I found. As the leaves drifted soundlessly to the ground a magpie sang. It gazed at me inquisitively until its attention was caught by a cockatoo flying overhead.

A fragile nest is now exposed. The garden has become more and more open as the trees are left bare by the approaching winter. A small wind caused the branches of the pine tree to bend and sigh.

The turned earth is rich and dark and smells of promises that will be kept.

The fifth day

A blue, blue day in the garden today. Cold. The last of the leaves shivered precariously on their branches.

A moss covered flagstone caught the sun's attention. So did a tiny purple flower.

The trees cast long shadows. Tiny cast her own.

The fourth day

I entered the garden - a dripping and wet world of deeply rain soaked earth and globes of water hanging off every leaf.

At first I thought how quiet it seemed, other than for the sound of the falling rain. Then I heard the peeping of a hundred tiny birds, playing in the red maples and amongst the fallen leaves.

The third day

Going into the garden this morning felt exactly like going into the Secret Garden.

A small,chilly breeze stirred the leaves. The birds were everywhere and let me get very close. Tiny birds darted from branch to branch. Two of them were playing and the sun caught their wings, turning them brilliantly transparent.

The grass had only recently been mown and its fresh cut scent still lingered.