The Tarn of Eternity

Paths meander through the drear landscape. In earlier time lovingly attended, now lie they under gray dust and blowing brown leaves. All paths, in good time, led to the garden gate, its posterns now long whitened by blowing wind and sand.

Dry ditches, ground cracked, dust and sand stretch from the broken gate. The gate, the fence - fallen, twisted, even as the garden.

By day the sun burns harshly the once green grass. By night the chill of winter coats each plant with killing frost. Gusting winds tear and rip where once soft zephyrs blew.

In bygone days bloomed here red roses, and pink carnations. The lilacs' fragrance, the soft beauty of the violets, the brilliant yellow of the sunflower graced long ago this garden.

The bees hummed contentedly, and butterflies floated from flower to flower. Gentle rains caressed the brilliant blossoms, the verdant leaves. Dewdrops glistened on green leaf at morningtide.

Of evening, sang the nightingales. By day, birdsong and happy bird chatter filled the air. In vibrant colors warblers and finches courted here, and yellow canaries darted from tree to tree. Flying jewels, the hummingbirds, decorated the flower gardens.

Always blue skies above, and soft caress of the warm sun. At times, white clouds drifted softly, released the gentle rain. The flowers opened wide, washed their bright faces in the crystal drops. The falling moisture fed the myriad streams, and cooled the noontime air.

Rivulets flowed with delicate tinkling sound amidst the flowers. In the clear waters darted fish of brilliant hue, red and gold. Here grew the waterflowers along the bank, and watercress.

A pond there was, cool water where swam the ducks and wild geese. From time to time awkward goslings there swam, and ofttimes the graceful swan.

Growing there, also, the pure white beauty of the waterlilies. Their beauty hid a message of foreboding. A message, by the Gods' grace, that Persephone could not read.

Here dwelt peace and tranquillity, rest from toil, relief from care.

Here walked, with gentle grace of fawn, Persephone in happier days. The beauty of the flowers faded in comparison to her beauty. Bright eyed, smooth skinned, lips the color and softness of the rose petals she added beauty to the already beautiful. The happy chatter of the birds was lost in the happy laughter of this child. Here she tended her flowers with loving care, dreamed the dreams of youth - and blissfully knew nought of the trials to come.

Bird music filled the air, each performer more talented than the other. Nature painted the garden with hues beyond man's ken. Persephone danced in joy beneath the warm sun, sang with the birds.

Ceres watched with happy smile, her daughter.

Yet felt the chill of premonition.

Such was the Garden of Persephone.

And that, long since.

The Garden of Pluto

Darkness!

Not the gentle poetic darkness of a summer evening, softly hiding the courting rites of youth, bringing peace and rest to a tired world. Nor the friendly shadow one finds in the depth of quiet forest, sheltered from the noonday sun.

The darkness of Hades has nought in common with these.

Clasp your hands before your eyes, pressing close against your lids. Open wide your eyes and try to see. Feel the absolute darkness pressing in upon you!

This the darkness of Hades. A darkness that presses on your very eyes. And more! A darkness that envelopes mind and soul! An unending and solid darkness, not of this world.

This is the darkness of Hades! This is the darkness of the damned!

In Pluto's garden, earth's flowers do not grow. Yet grow there plants.