The Garden – Kate Sullivan

Do you have a safe space, real or imagined in which to retreat when the world is crowding in, the lights too bright, or everything is just too much? As a child I had two; the world of my imagination. I entered via books, or by musing all alone in a sun-dappled spot. My inner world is rich and fertile, like a mountain glen covered in ferns and morning mist.

The second spot was in the garden of my family home. When my big sister was packed off to infants school, I played there alone, yet never lonely, with my thoughts and feelings. A nondescript day when I was maybe four years old: I lay on my back beneath the boughs of a single tree, alone like me. I gazed up at the blue of sky and sin peeking out from between the leaves. Later I rolled over onto my side, cheek to earth and embraced the cool calm I found there. Amongst the clover was a patch of moss, enticing to touch; velvet for fairy coats. I caressed the moss and drank in the sensation like a long, cool drink from a fresh spring.

Many years have passed since that day, and yet the memory remains fresh. It sustains me whenever I am in need of escape from fear, uncertainty or pain. I’ve used this memory like a secret weapon in numerous trials. When I grow weary, I return again and again to that place in my mind’s eye, that memory of long ago: the comfort of cool moss, playful sun, and empathetic tree in the garden.