Impossible. That was the word. Impossible. And it was mine. My secret garden.
Glancing behind me, I checked for wandering eyes and closed the gates softly. I was free. No wanting to waste anymore time, I broke into a soft run until I reached the gates to wonderland. Impatient, I edged through the trees to the beautiful archway. Two willow trees intwined, but leaving a small gap for someone to climb through, which was camouflaged by branches, glowing green in the dying sun. Flowers of fire snaked up the arch, guiding me through the gates. The scenery changed, leaving the dull world behind.
I was sitting on a hill. The landscape in front of me was beautiful yet detached. Four perfect corners sat next to each other. Four seasons. Light shining equaling on each quarter, no darkness, no evil. Just light.
Spring beckoned me, drawing me to wonders,lazy days and home. The greening of the grass is the first sight, flowers of pale colours bloom and life begins.
I almost remember the mornings of vibrancy, dew on flowers and the pearly rays of sun on my face. But it wasn't enough.
I lurched forward into the season, spying on it like a vulture. The bees hummed quietly, butterflys stretched on flowers lazily and the gentle sea of trees filling the scene with creation. It was unimaginable, the beauty of birth and the amazing Queen of the Seasons. A sudden rush of heat struck my face. And there it was.
To the far left, Summer gleamed, full of life.
I could almost smell the perfume of the roses, that took me back to memories of hot dogs, the baking sun and icy water against my skin.I spun, finding the source and raced to the core of the flavours.
It brought back dreams, far away places, and hope.
I was just strolling in the park,yet I was so tired. The ball of fire in the sky blazed a brilliant amber, so bright that I could not admire it for long. I sighed and wiped the dripping sweat from my forehead and ran from the sickly smell of sap.
I stared back at Summer. It was too perfect. Too unreal. It was time for Autumn.
I was rewarded with gusts of wind, swirling crusty leaves into the air, then cascading down to the ground creating waves of fire, a carpet of warmth. The smell of smoke lifts up, reminding me of fireworks, and the fifth of November. Slumbering animals peacefully sleep, unaware of autumn's soul existence.
I laugh and it echoed, drowned out by the end of Fall.
The gentle breeze swayed the branches of the trees, replacing the warmth, with cold ice.
Winter. The coldest and most brutal. Yet amazing.
Flakes of white, float onto the blanketed trees, made me see the hushed beauty of the season. Grass, pale and crisp with frost, lies on the floor, splattered with footprints of the Winter animals.
The iced lake gleamed like a small mirror, like a silver bullet or a dangerous gate to death. The hairs on the back of my neck slipped up until I looked away, unshackled from the grips of ghosts.
Electrified, the trees sparked out in cold lines, naked. I could see myself there, my breath rising out in visible puffs, my teeth chattering, blue tinged lips and numb fingers aching for the Spring.
Slowly the setting morphed back into the valley and I was back on the grassy floor of the hill.
Welcome to the impossible.
I took one last look at the archway to reality and led myself slowly down to the depths of wonderland.