Lenora
I followed Aunt Maggie out the back door into a beautiful, wild-looking garden. The beds were arranged in concentric circles, but that was the only order. Every kind of herb, flower, shrub and even small trees seemed to have been planted at random, and yet I knew it wasn’t random at all. It was too beautiful to be an accident.
The old dwarf apple tree still put out a few fruits on its gnarled branches, while a climbing rose used the trunk to draw itself upward toward the sky. Another bed was overrun with lilies of the valley, while still another was a riot of color of petunias in white, pink, and deep purple around clumps of bright yellow and orange marigolds. Moon flowers opened their white trumpets amongst the day’s closed morning glories. The sky was dark, and the flowers
