08/26/2007

The View From Sunnybank

A little night magic in the garden

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

There is something about the pre-dawn, some magic that always enchants me. I stare through the open kitchen window at outlines, trying to separate myself from the knowledge of exactly what they represent; it's more fun to simply sail on the silhouette sea.

Long slivers of light emanate from the edges of the thick, age-blackened, wooden alley door. Part of me knows that the glow out of the alley lamp is Edison-fathered, but the bigger thought that it is somehow alive, and seeks entry, feels more accurate; it's the right one for 4:30 a.m.

The huge black fountain, which dominates the garden in daylight, is cloaked in night. I am amazed that it can so effectively vanish. The pool water is utterly still; a single pale, floating leaf seems eerily suspended.

The cool, still air is thick with anticipation, with promise, with scents that only a garden can produce; the open window allows them to waft into the room and mix pleasantly with the rich aroma of French coffee and fresh bread's toasty piquancy.

In spring the energy emanating from the damp earth is almost palpable. I imagine I can actually hear the hosta pushing up through snow-stiffened soil, seeking the sun. But now, in late summer, there is a Pause, as though the garden were thoughtful. It is the apogee of the season, when growing things are exactly between up and down. It is the beginning of Mother Earth's slow, inexorable exhale.

The tall, sheltering fence, vined and solid, like the one in the story of 'Rappaccinni's Daughter' (a brief, but frightening fantasy penned by the dour Nathaniel Hawthorne), separates me from the disturbing unpredictability of the world just outside.

A black outline silkily glides along the fence's flat top; the head and back form a nearly horizontal line ending in an exclamatory tail that smoothly traverses the long, high planks. The new cat-in-the-'hood, confident in his armor (knowledge and claws, youth and speed), is full of hunter-lust; no sound betrays his presence.

There is no moon. No breeze. Just occasional cries, or rustlings, as sleep-thick, light-addicted animals shift position in snug nests. The cat notes the most interesting sounds, and investigates.

My eye catches a tiny movement, very close; it's a mouse, standing alert in the newly cleared bed, nose twitching, whiskers at attention, probably smelling the cat, high above his home. Rodent-wise, his nose knows where not to go. He moves in short bursts among the forest of lily stalks, foraging for mouse-delights, careful to keep owl-radar from locking onto his small body. Hosta leaves and house-shadow are his shield.

In the alley there's a scream; the owl has snatched a life, which will fuel other life, as the world turns.

My coffee is cold; I've gotten lost in black, in sounds, in Quiet. Time to come back, to organize the nascent day into minutes and hours, time to make plans.

Birds tune up; their lovely songs enhance the dawn and lift my heart. All my life I've loved the coo of mourning doves; now their soft melody floats through the fresh, crisp morning air. I hear my late mother's voice clearly: "They're saying, 'I love you…you, you'…” she whispers, smiling.

Daylight creeps steadily over the landscape; her laser-light defines vague forms, giving birth to color and substance. A tiny noise out front tells me the morning paper awaits collection. A bicycle's whir disturbs the air; a screen door slams; with a flick of my finger, the fountains come to life.

A new day, with no mistakes, has begun.

Dee Blair's private Traverse City secret garden at Sunnybank (325 Sixth St.) is often open to visitors daily from around 9 a.m. to around early evening, with extended hours possible by appointment. It's best to check the sign to be sure, or if planning a group visit, call ahead (231-929-4351) to avoid disappointment. She can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at http://blogs.record-eagle.com.