It is just after a “holiday” at the rabbit patch.  When I spend four days with my children, it is  red letter days on our calendar, no matter when it happens!  When it’s over, I go to the Quiet Garden,  which now is full of Aprils’ last roses.

I had a grand time in Wilmington, and feel sorry it’s over.  It’s always the same for me and about foolish, I think that I get such a sense of melancholy the day after I return.  Thank goodness for the Quiet Garden!  I named the rose garden after Gladys Taber’s flower garden.  I always name things that I love.  I am not sure  there is much rhyme or reason for this habit, but it  is a well-established pattern of mine.

   I have had ” a place” since I was a child.  No one had to teach me to do so-I just knew it was a good practice.  I never told anyone about any  spot that I claimed for my own. Imagine my surprise when once, years ago, my then, six year old Tres, shared his own secret place with me.  I hope he has one now.

The Quiet Garden at the rabbit patch has served me well over the decade.  The roses and violets never hinder my thoughts. They do not make light of my concerns-and they keep my secrets, much like good friends.  The picket fence  that frames it, strains under the weight of  several climbing varieties of roses.  The violets bloom where they please.  There is a bird bath in the center with roses growing round it. There are black-eyed susans claiming a corner and purple cone flowers make themselves at home there too.  They showed up without an invitation  but are quite useful when “company’s coming” and I need a vase for the table.

I never intended to have a Quiet Garden, full of roses and violets-like most good things, it just happened  as naturally as a late spring shower . Someone  gave me some picket fence -so The Quiet Garden was born .  My place of refuge and solace or the place for a summer garden   party  came about because someone cleaned their barn out.

Something I have learned about myself is that sorting things out is very important to my well-being.  If I don’t, then I get things all out of perspective and that never turns out well . I often think that if I fill my heart with good things, that I will make less room for undesirable notions .

When I returned from “my holiday” to my beloved rabbit patch- the first news I got was that Christopher Robin had broken a favorite porcelain rabbit in my den.  I had just left my children and wasn’t over it and so I about cried at such a crime.  That rabbit was named “St. Peter” and had been a gift from my friend, Julie.  She had tied the sweetest little ribbon  on him and I remember the day she did so.  My naughty kitten watched me from a safe distance and proceeded to give himself a bath!  He did not need the Quiet Garden to know that his human was prone to odd ways.

It did not take a long while among the roses for me to know that he was right.  I walked out of that garden with my  heart full of gratitude for my sweet children, a gray kitten-and a neighbor who cleaned his barn out.

“One is nearer God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth.”