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My Grandmother’s Secret

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. A secret that stretches to tender leaves at the tops of
mighty forest guardians; standing strong through beating rain and winters clothed in ice.

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. pillars marked with history, holding on to stories told
through cracked and leathered skin.

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. Wide and awesome; heaving under its own tremendous weight. Never
faltering on the journey to tomorrow.

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. . It follows the line of the
earth extending, for what feels like forever. No horizon.

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. that capture the sunlight, keeping it slave for its
own devices, infinitely seeing.

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. A voice that bellows to distant lands; unknown in time and place. Once,

Utopia. Now forgotten, or maybe— dreamed .

My Grandmother has a secret in her garden. That echoes through the shuddering bushes, shivering with anticipation
of contact with the brave who dare to search for it.

I push through morning mist, fighting the frost as it battles with the warmth of my breath, laced with hot chocolate,
powerful ammunition.

The frozen tips of the green mat beneath me crunch in protest at my relentless assault on the daybreak.

The Sun, in its infancy; watching cautiously under the shadow of his mother— Moon. Blushing when he’s caught
peeking at me over the hill.

Even the smallest trees whisper words of caution, but the cheeky shrubs below them urge me on in my pursuit. “Go
on. Go on” they goad. And I do, too foolish to avoid their dare.

I push my way through army foliage, easily defeating their flimsy defences, ever closer to my goal.

S p a c e , opening before me; a secret hollow in this urban forest protected from the prying eyes of the world by
an army clad in bark.

I feel the goose bumps on my skin, hundreds of beacons of trepidation, shouting But my
feet are propelled; seeking out the answer to the heated mist that

Cautious feet stumble over mossy rocks, creeping closer to an icy pool; trying to be inconspicuous by joining in the
conversation of birds sipping their refreshing morning coffee.

Only the chattering of my teeth betrays me to my comrades of plume and they
abandon me; to face this giant alone.

Without the feathered camouflage I continue on my quest, ever pressing closer to the thing that’s still unsaid.

Fighting with my racing heart I move towards the monstrous caves from which this pungent steam escapes; as if
alive.

This thing; this clandestine ancient knowledge that only my Grandmother knows, the stories that she’s whispered
while I drift off into dreams, unknown to any.

Except me.

How many years of melodic voice, has she sung the tales to my crib? Imprinting on me this day of reckoning. And
held my hand, as I, taking timid first steps imagined running with the treasure she spoke of.

How many moments of warm kitchen cuddles, with flour on noses and curlers in hair, has she blessed me with kisses
to take on this task?

So now, with boyish bravado I wipe my hands on dew-dampened jeans and peer into this chasm with eyes of
emerald, seeking out a crystal ball of a time that’s now long gone.

Destroyed.
Vanished.

Extinct.

All but one. Alone, like me.

And face to face with this lifetime tale I draw in oxygen, filling my lungs with that precious gas.

I turn my face skyward towards the hint of blue, the only patch unhidden by this grey and stately tower.

Placing one careful sneaker above the other; trying not to step on laces, constantly escaping, as I
this sunlit wall.

The birds take up a chorus, a cheer to keep me brave as I continue on my destiny. A path my Grandmother made for
me and strengthened from my infancy.

The Sun has taken audience, observing from his balcony seat. Smiling with delight as he watches me make history.

Or is it, meet history?

“Hello!?” I call, my voice as brave as I can muster. I can feel the cornflakes n e r v o u s l y
c n
dan i g in my stomach. I receive no answer. So upward I go. Moving towards the throbbing pulse of this
forever hidden mast, a historic figurehead.

“Hello!?” I call again. The noise reaches the top-most branches of this garden canopy, alerting those creatures within
who were resting in the shade.

Or hiding.

From the beast, that starts to shift his head, puzzled by my voice. And moves to investigate who disturbs his
breakfast.

And in that timeless moment I watch transfixed, and hold on for life, as the tower I’m climbing shudders and bends
towards me, as curious as I.

From high above me I watch it fall,

interrupting his breakfast to come and talk with me. Just me.

I am not scared.

My Grandmother told me. “Just say “Hello”, Matthew. Just say “Hello.””

I am not scared, as I lick my lips, suddenly dry.
I am not scared, as I clear my throat, suddenly parched.

I am not scared as I open my mouth to squeak out, “Hello.”

And I freeze transfixed, as the monster moves his awesome jaws,

and nudges towards me his tasty fare of tender shoots. A peace offering.

Carefully easing down, I sit on the crest of this mighty beast. Tugging on my sneaker and pushing it forward with one
stockinged foot.

An alliance.

A friendship.

With windswept hair and Indian war-cries I thunder through the secret woods, now my conquest. Yelling with glee,

astride my mount and waving, wild a fleece-lined victory flag marked with an .

With the Sun grinning on I laugh through the morning, my new friend and I forge a life-lasting pact. And sitting
together by the crystal pond, surrounded by my returned avian regiment, I feel gentle eyes on my sun-warmed back,
from a smiling face with flour on her nose and curlers in hair.

I wave at the window, and she waves back. Spinning like a child she comes out to join us; me and her own

magic dragon.
Some people have imaginary friends.

My Grandmother has a secret. That only I know.

The End

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My Grandmother Has a Secret: short story

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My Grandmother Has a Secret: short story