The Secret Garden by Frances Hoxson Burnett Welcome.
Tonight you're invited to let go of the day and wander into a place where healing grows quietly,
In a garden long forgotten by the world,
But never by time.
Let your body become still.
Let your breath flow soft and slow.
There is nowhere you need to be now except here.
Let's go to the Secret Garden.
Once,
A long time ago,
A quiet girl named Mary came to live at a great old manor.
Missoloit Manor.
It stood on the edge of the moor,
Where the wind always whispered and the sky stretched wide and gray like soft cloth.
Mary had lost much.
She felt stiff and silent inside.
But under her stillness,
Something small was stirring.
Something waiting to wake.
One dusky afternoon,
Mary wandered down a path she didn't know.
The hedges grew high,
The air full of the scent of earth and rain.
She stopped.
The wall ahead of her breathed.
Not really,
But it felt that way.
She ran her hand over the ivy,
And there it was,
A hidden door.
No handle,
No way in,
But Mary felt sure this door had once opened and would again.
The next morning,
Beneath an old stone,
Mary found something cold and shining.
A key.
She clutched it tightly and ran.
The sky was gray,
But her heart was glowing.
At the wall,
Her fingers trembled.
The key slid in and turned.
The door groaned softly as it opened.
Beyond it,
The air changed.
Cooler,
Quieter,
Full of green scent and sleeping light.
Mary stepped inside,
Into the secret garden.
Inside,
The garden was still.
Overgrown roses wrapped themselves around bent branches.
The soil was rich,
Dark,
Untouched.
No footsteps but her own.
Mary sat on a stone bench.
No one had spoken to this place in years,
But it was listening.
She reached out and touched a vine.
It trembled,
Ever so slightly,
Not broken,
Not forgotten,
Just waiting.
Each day,
She came back,
Not to fix,
But to be.
And the garden changed,
Slowly,
Softly,
Just like her.
Resting in the garden,
Tonight you are there too.
You walk through soft grass.
The stars begin to glow above the trees.
The earth is cool beneath your feet.
You lie beneath the apple tree.
Its branches arch gently above.
Like arms keeping watch.
The garden holds you,
Like it held Mary.
Like it holds every quiet,
Tired heart that just needs time.
Breathe in,
And out.
Let the stillness bloom in you.
Let the garden dream for you.
You are safe.
You are whole.
You are home.
Let the door close behind you until morning.
And rest.
Rest.
Rest.
