Bokelskere.no

She stopped with a little laugh of pleasure, and there, lo and behold, was the robin swaying on a long branch of ivy. He had followed her and he greeted her with a chirp.

The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off – and they are nearly always doing it.

Satiny poppies of all tints danced in the breeze by the score, gaily defying flowers which had lived in the garden for years and which it might be confessed seemed rather to wonder how such new people had got there. And the roses – the roses! Rising out of the grass, tangled round the sun-dial, wreathing the tree trunks and hanging from their branches, climbing up the walls and spreading over them with long garlands falling in cascades – they came alive day by day, hour by hour. Fair fresh leaves, and buds – and buds – tiny at first but swelling and working Magic until they burst and uncurled into cups of scent delicately spilling themselves over their brims and filling the garden air.

They always called it Magic and indeed it seemed like it in the months that followed—the wonderful months – the radiant months – the amazing ones. Oh! the things which happened in that garden! If you have never had a garden, you cannot understand, and if you have had a garden you will know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show buds and the buds began to unfurl and show color, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In its happy days flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner.

Mistress Mary always felt that however many years she lived she should never forget that first morning when her garden began to grow. Of course, it did seem to begin to grow for her that morning.

"No kjem våren", sa han."Kan du ikkje lukte det"?
Mary snuste og syntes hun kunne. "Jeg lukter noe godt og friskt og vått", sa hun.
"Det er den gode, rike jorda", svarte han og spadde i vei. "Ho er i godlage og gjer seg ferdig til det skal gro. Ho er glad når tida kjem. Det er keisamt om vinteren når det ikkje er noko å gjere. I blomsterhagen der ute er det noko som rører seg djupt nede i mørkret. Sola verner det. Og snart får du sjå små grøne skot stikke opp or svarte jorda".

Berre vent til lyngen blømer. Då ser du fiolette bjøller over vide vidder, og tusenvis av sommarfuglar som vinglar i blå luft, medan biar summar og lerker stig mot himmel i full song.

Det virket som andre barn tilhørte fedrene og mødrene sine, men hun hadde aldri vært noens lille pike.

Og lykken hersket uinnskrenket.

Om han hadde hatt noen å snakke med om sine hemmelige engstelser, hadde tort å stille spørsmål, hadde hatt noen jevnaldringer å være sammen med og ikke bare ligget på rygg i det digre, avstengte huset og pustet inn luft som var tung av frykten hos folk som stort sett var både uvitende og lei hele ham, så ville han ha oppdaget at det meste av hans engstelser og sykelighet var skapt av ham selv.