The Path

Anonymous

The path. The path. Oh, the path. I am inexorably bound by the path as I travel through the Garden. The path was conceived and constructed, ordained and blessed, by Them. I can see the whole world beyond the dirt trail but cannot grasp it. The Garden exists beyond space and time, where bamboo, roses, herbs, lilies, cacti, and birds of paradise coexist. The path, my guide, by which I traverse this grand arc of the universe. I must follow it.

As I ascend, heading from the plants of South Africa toward the Bamboo forest. I reach a dead-end. Oh, cosmic gardener, why do you forsake me? I turn around and journey from whence I came. During my descent, I encounter a serene couple.

I warn them of the path’s end, “Hey, that way’s dead-end. Some construction is blocking it off. Must’ve been the storms.”

They nod. They appreciate the warning. They continue on. I await their return from the dead end. I, their lonesome guardian. One hour, two hours, three hours; they do not return. The poor couple, lost to the abyss, eclipsed by the event horizon of Garden and Path. I shake my head and lament their fates. Why must the path be so cruel? Alas, I continue on. The path lies before me. I must walk it.

It was a beautiful day. My lovely girlfriend and I were a bit bored. She was working from home, and I was between commitments. It had been a few days since we left our tiny apartment, and we decided to visit the botanical garden, seeking the Sun’s warmth and pleasant views. As we strolled alongside Strawberry Creek, we found the Garden’s entrance. We perused the desert plants and felt a saguaro’s needles. We glanced at the Japanese Pool and spotted some California Newts. Finally, we looked for the Bamboo Forest. My girlfriend really wanted to see it. As we approached, heading from the South African plants to the Eastern Asian plants, a lady halted us with a foreboding stare.

She gravely warns, “Hey, that way’s a dead-end. Some construction is blocking it off. Must’ve been the storms.”

Undeterred, my sweet girlfriend and I continued the walk up. We knew the way to the bamboo. I glance behind me. The woman is staring at me with a fiery intensity, perhaps upset we didn’t heed her warning. A bizarre moment. At the end of the path, we spot the magnificent bamboo forest. And sitting, overlooking its grandeur, is a sturdy white bench, a tribute to a late garden donor. It was his favorite spot, and this bench was to be shared by all. In remembrance, we spend several tranquil hours there. Marveling at the swaying bamboo, feeling the Sun’s warmth, and cherishing each other. It was a lovely afternoon.