By Mary Crowley
I stood gazing at the overgrown greenery, which once constituted a well-maintained colourful garden. Speculating, how somewhere could transform, from being my paradise. A place I referred to, as a little piece of heaven, to the living hell it had become, now desolate and chilling to look at. Depicting a sadness of unfulfilled dreams, and memories lost in the battle which caused its decay.
Stepping down the path, pushing through the dense English laurel hedging, its presence previously perceiving an air of mystery, and providing privacy. Now overgrown, shadowing the formerly picturesque area below. Entering the bottom of the garden, now overrun with rubbish, and broken garden debris. I glance around, the once beautifully designed area of this much loved garden. Having accommodated a water feature, surrounded by pebbles, to enhance the sound of the running water, as it splashed on top of them. Shimmering nuggets strewn among the stones, incorporated to reflect, in the light of the evening sun. Small maple trees had been carefully planted, to add visually to the tranquil ambience. Bamboo rustling in the gentle breeze. Beyond it lay a seating area, a tranquil space to sit and unwind.
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