“Your garden is wonderland, la de da… ” Here I am badly mangling John Mayer’s amazing lyrics. But to the Boo, this garden is a wonderland. One he demands to be let into on a regular basis. No asking for him, he paws at the front door, and insisted on being let out. No hanging out in the less public backyard for him, he likes to watch the people pass by. Your garden is wonderland let me in, y our garden is wonderland lets see it. He knows he’s only allowed there while supervised, there is nothing between him, and a errant sniffing to many times off leashed dog.
He loves to hide in the big leaves, and the bubble gum pink hydrangea flowers, can you see him?
Do you see him now, peering out between the iris, and the daylily stalks waiting to pursue a butterfly, and watching the golden sun slowly sink into the neighbouring yard.
I guess when you are only 12 inches tall, every tree is a skyscraper, each flower massively hanging over your head.
We play where’s the Bootsie, he hides camouflaged by the dark mulch, and I frantically search for him, only to find him peacefully laying there. Happily ensconced on his dirt throne, a hug, and a chiding later, I relax.
The bees ignore him, intent on their busy bee-ness gathering pollen before the dusk falls, the dragonfly momentarily lights on a stalk of grass searching for things that dragonfly's love.
It’s a small world, one where I see a messy garden and he sees wonderland. Loving his little world…