Down the Garden Path

He led me down the garden path
a frail old man, to reveal his
magic kingdom, gardens of utter
delight, revealing to my incredulous
gaze his pact with nature in an
exchange of mutual admiration;
he for her creative inspiration
she for the zealousness of his
adoration of those creations
where creatures of the sky, the land
and the sea find haven in his
fixation on nature's bounty. There
is where I see Camperdown Elm,
Catalpa and White Birch of a
decidedly venerable elegance
anchoring a series of beds and
borders where Magnolias and
Hibiscus bloom. And where native
wild mullein thrive where they
seed, and a silent, grave Buddha
sits watch over a tranquil, trickling
pool. Birds and bees, frogs and
lizards, deer and chipmunks convene.
This is the ethereal, luminous
garden of a man whom first sight
betrays, but whom nature has 
generously invigorated, nudging him
back to younger days; his industry
and aesthetic triumphs leaving me
breathless with the spirit of envy.