A Special Place

a prose poem

Back of the house were shrubs fight for space, an old Dog Wood tree with new sprouts trying to survive, large Poplar trees grow huge along the creek, one dead and four more very much alive. Ferns grow wild along the fence, a wooden walking path to a bridge and a small gazebo over looking the rippling stream below. A short path through the trees and ivy pass a water fall when it rains, a few wild orchids I try to protect. Just part of my special place. A rhododendron planted years ago, reaches out to fill a corner space, dark green leaves, a sweet honeysuckle smell from their blooms fills the air. Another bridge in need of repair over a second water fall, plunging five feet into a three foot deep blue pool. Azaleas large with new growth, a new flower garden, planted next to the rock walkway that leads from the backdoor to the wide steps with blue Hydrangeas, and up to two deck levels with hot tub make up a part of our special backyard. Workshop with a screen in back over looking the creek with the sound of water over the rocks year around. A small deck on the edge of the creek with a swing to sit and watch the small fish in the pool below. Steps from the deck lead down, followed by stepping stones, for access to the stream that cuts through the soft soap stone bed rock. I picked this lot because of it's character, a wet weather stream on the side and a year around flowing stream across the back. There is a special place were I buried Sparkle, our temperamental cat, a metal post that once carried a gate. The fence long gone, for our first dog, Panda. That was almost twenty years ago. A lead pipe monkey bar installed when our daughter was young, all memories left in the yard. A family of hawks live in the woods across the stream, they leave me feathers almost every week. Rabbits live in the space under my workshop where Rusty loves to peek and sniff. In the clear flowing water I set up my dredge and clean out the crevice between the rocks beneath. The gold is rough and bright, not like most that have rolled and tumbled. The quartz vein crosses the stream right here on my plot! All this and more on the back of a three quarter acre lot. If I become bored with my back yard, I can always walk around to the front. Through the years, our backyard has provided a place to build dams, bridges, plant and cut down. Dreams and relaxing work adding walk ways, decks, the workshop, things to do on pleasant days to clear the mind..

Prose ~Hubert Crowell

^{Š2010 Hubert C. Crowell}