My Dream Garden
by Uncle Morty
Your Uncle Morty dreams every day of the garden he will create when this assignment is done, and he is allowed to return to the Netherworlds. Let’s imagine it together, shall we?
He dreams of a gate and arbor made of the fossilized thorn branches of Sleeping Beauty’s castle twisted into an intricate arch. It shimmers at moonrise with white roses and moonflowers twining up its sides. We have wandered down an alley of pale flowered cherries to bring us to this point, glowing white hydrangeas nestling at the foot of each tree . We walk down the path, paved with shed dragon scales and directly into the moon garden, which is planted in a corner as we walk through the arch. More white roses and clematis climb the walls, and pearl bushes soften the hard-black stone that encircles the whole garden. White lilies reach up through deep purple day lilies, innocence and passion, while night luminaries flit and glow between them. (These are small lights, powered by moonlight, that lift themselves and move like moths amongst the flowers in the night. They can be purchased at all fine gardening stores in the Deep Lands).
We can return to the moon garden, but let us continue down the dragon path...look! Here’s another path that turns to the right. It’s paved with pale gray granite, like the surface of a tombstone. Here is a bench on one side of the path, on the other is a statue of a sad man with a mustache and tousled hair, a raven on one shoulder. Tender white narcissus springs up around his feet, its sweet earthy smell recalling all that was and might have been. In the soft daylight of this enchanted country, we can see healing plants too, gathering around him, those that grew in his brain and bloomed in his poems, pansies and rosemary.
We light a candle at a small pedestal near him and move to the poison garden where we’ll have a cup of tea and wait for the creeping light. Alas, this garden is best at twilight, but I understand it would be dangerous for you to linger too long in the Netherlands. Still take a moment to enjoy before you return the Upper World. The wormwood and foxgloves are doing fine, overspread by the ever-magnificent Angel’s trumpet. Here you may sip and sniff at will, but don’t try this on the material plane.
Let us move into the Dr. Seuss garden, where every tree is cut into the shape of a friendly elephant, or an inhospitable green hermit. Here in this magical country, the topiary has moments, when the planets align, or the moon hits at the perfect slant, when they are free to move, to scurry amongst the twisted willows or the tall balls of holly that drift atop long stems. This very early morning they are playing tag amongst the sweet scented gardenias, now full of glowing moths.
I see you have to be getting back. Perhaps you’ll visit again. In my dreams, I remain, returning to the Poe garden, expecting a visit from the man himself. Perhaps someday.
Mortimer Richard Wolcott is, quite frankly, not very forthcoming with his bio. We're not even sure if that's his real name. His work during his previous embodiments is not something he'll willingly share. He also won't explain why he's currently assigned to the world of the living. His deathography only somewhat clear from the point at which he showed up at Sacred Chickens Farm for a Halloween Party and never left. He is occasionally pressed into service to help write the blog and you can search the archives here for his wisdom. He enjoys hanging out with cats, the occasional cocktail, and dispensing sarcastic remarks to the living.