When the Garden Speaks

I walked into the silent garden. It felt peaceful and quiet yet something about it seemed to be…Alive. Perhaps it was the butterflies daintily flitting about or the rustle of the trees above that seemed to be talking through their silence. “Whoosh wilsh shoom” the playful breeze whispered in my thirsty ear. I felt that I could finally break free from the stifling confines of the ever so familiar English language. It has always seemed formal and slightly superficial, never enough to express the laughter and the tears. Suddenly, I felt something whiz past me, faster than any butterfly or canary. I ran after the speeding blur, trying to reach it, trying to define the ‘liffering’ feeling inside me. When I was finally close enough, I lunged and clapped my hands around it, feeling the unknown being furiously fluttering inside my trembling palms. I opened my hands the tiniest bit to feed my blazing curiosity. Could it be that the creature I was nervously clasping was actually…a fairy? The tiny elvish fairy viciously glared at me and squealed in her high, sharp voice “Goon sillik dee itilkin arronific LIRKE!!!”. I could and couldn’t understand what she was saying. It made perfect sense yet no sense at all. I was awe-struck and exhilarated at the irony. There were voices everywhere. The butterflies whispered “Listily oosil mali” while the canary cheerfully sang “Micc saln lameen”. The trees uttered in their deep voices “Badook wrn carik”, “Lyran, saloof, mandi, kanoon”. They were speaking yet silent, telling the truth through utter gibberish. Though every word was classified as horribly wrong, in that blessed moment, it all felt imperfectly perfect.