My Garden

By Mohammed Matter from Gaza

I always try to wake as soon as possible. Best is before dawn. Then you see all colors taking life in front of your eyes, every single blade of grass waking up, as millions of eyes opening up to a brand new shining sun.

Behind the house, we have a little garden. There, I have grown some strawberry plants, raspberry and blueberry bushes, as well as climbing roses. On the corner, exposed to the sunny light, there is jasmine sent by a Moroccan friend of mine. I told her we have plenty of jasmine seeds here, but she just wouldn’t listen.

- Let your garden be like a joyful patchwork, let it smell, sing and shine the world.

Let your garden be the world. I loved her expression

As birds slowly wake up, I take position, on the ground, and put the loop of my cam around my neck. When you manage to capture the reflection of the sun rays on the dewy petals, know you will have a superb picture. The sky now turns amber, and one can see the majestic silhouette of the centenarian olive tree watching over the house.

The soil is still damp. I start taking snapshots when I feel the sun is just enough up to give me some light, without dazzling the lens of the cam. I remember when we used to work on this garden, my parents, siblings and me. Everyone is now busy doing something else. Mum sometimes still comes, sits beneath the orange tree, and tells me about the time when lovers used to meet under the same trees to let the words of the heart out.

I want it safe, I want my children to get it as a raw heritage, for each sheaf of wheat, each lemon tree leaf, every single drop of the stream carries years, decades, centuries of laughter, words, secrets, murmurs and struggle. I will never, never ever let this fade and die with my branch of the family tree.

So long as the roots will keep growing deep, this little patchwork shall never collapse."