The garden

Her wild, kinked gray hair & dirt stained fingers are the first to greet us in the doorway. "Tilly," she says, extending her arm from a smock that resembles a painter's. "Come around back." We wander through her house to access the backyard. A stream flows through her house passing small statues, mirrors, and bends around the kitchen sink. The sound of running water is as common to her as the hum of a refrigerator.

She has designed this house and property herself and it reminds me of a warm Escher painting. Two staircases lead to one room, the angles of rooms are just left of center, the floors are a warm sandy red tile, no one room is on the same plane as another, and secret alcoves display ornate decor. It is the backyard we have come to see. We follow the stream until it drops into a waterfall, landing outside into the comfort of its own pool: Lily pads, long gold and white fish, and bobbing floating flowers. The stream continues weaving through specific elaborate gardens that are so colorful compared to the Sandstone Mountains that her property backs up to.

The Garden of the Gods are just within walking distance, she tells us, and she winks at me as I am drawn to a small hole in a shrub. I feel like Alice in Wonderland as I crouch to move through this little entrance, pushing away loose branches so that I can access what is on the other side. When I am past the tree I find a cozy and private little stretch of grass surrounded by trees with a little white table and three matching chairs. "This is my grandchildren's secret garden," Tilly explains from behind me. "They think no one else knows about this little plot of land. It is theirs. They discovered it. If I know they are coming I leave a pot of tea on the table for them with cookies. They rarely arrive here before the tea gets cold. Don't we all deserve a little bit of magic in our lives after all?"