I call it my secret garden room. The leafy crown of an ancient soft maple tree covers my hideaway, its hollow trunk and limbs housing birds, squirrels, chipmunks, a mother raccoon and her two babies, and now and then, a possum. The tinkle of water soothes and sings to me. It comes from the waterfall that trips over native rocks and splashes into the little pool nestled in a forest of leather leaf and cranberry viburnum. The bushes bend with the weight of buds and sour berries, fodder for winter birds.
But wait. Out from the thicket hops a gray bird with a black cap and a bright red patch under his tail; a cat bird. He nabs a berry and flies to a low hanging branch of the maple. His song, long, loud, and clear, proclaims his territory. Then out from the copse come a soft repeat, a female perhaps on the nest.
A butterfly bush waves its dainty, purple blooms. A creature I’ve not seen before darts and lands, darts and lands, an olive brown insect with white streaks, and a two inch wingspan, a white lined sphinx I learn. Where did he come from? Has he always been in our garden or did he just find his way here?
The delicate petals of our prize peachy rose bush bend under the weight of a black and yellow bumble bee. A few honey bees hover about. They are endangered so I’m glad to see them. I didn’t plant tomatoes this year but I hope for those that did, that they too see these chief pollinators flitting about.
To this small village of life, evenings are best. Dusk sends calming messages of peace and quiet. Fireflies flash covert signals. Soon, the moon will shine through the maple tree canopy, a little breeze will ripple the leaves, and the musical waterfall will calm the souls of all who inhabit my secret garden.
Click to see and listen. waterfall