Read The Garden of Stars for Free Online Page A

said Mary, steadying my balance.
    Â I drew my cardigan closer to me and gazed up at the sky.
    Â â€˜This is no ordinary garden, my dear,’ chuckled Mary, ‘this is the garden of stars. An extraordinary show of patterns, light and explosions take place above your head every single evening. And you don’t even have to buy a ticket to see it.’
    Â I sat down on the step, eyes wide, open-mouthed, watching.
    Â Polaris danced like a woman who thinks no one is watching, Aries the ram sat steely-eyed stalking a shoal of Piscerian fish, Capella the goat was caught by Auriga, the charioteer as he raged against the wicked Cerberus, the terrifying three-headed monster. The Gemini twins smiled down, hand in hand, gently flickering that all was well in the night sky. Corvus squawked a shrill crow’s cry before diving onto the scorpion Scorpio. Oblivious to all this, the lustful Aquarius hardly noticed as she poured gallon after gallon of water into the black seas of night, her mind elsewhere with her lover.
    Â Planets, shining steadily and bright, unlike their elusive twinkling friends the stars, wandered from one constellation to another, just as we humans move from one life to another. Had my new start been a success? Was it time to start thinking about moving on again, for Rosemary’s sake as well as my own?
    Â Being a mother doesn’t mean you always make the right decisions, even though it may appear to your children that there was never any choice. Perhaps Miss Metford was right about my own mother, whose peculiar beliefs so readily filtered into my everyday thoughts, my everyday life. I knew, when I was growing up, that our neighbours thought Mum was crazy, maybe even dangerous, but she was always wonderful in my eyes. We never had much money so she did what she needed to survive. If that meant boiling up bits of hedgerow for dinner then so be it. I traced my finger around my mother’s locket, the only thing I had of hers. I wore it sometimes when I felt I needed her courage. Here, Rosie and I did have a choice. It was just that sometimes there seemed there were too many stars and not enough sky.
    Â I gently padded my way around the garden, cat-like, not wanting to disturb her from her nightly engagements. For a garden does not rest like we do at night. It’s when she comes alive. Enjoying the peace of the birds’ gentle slumber, the garden breathes huge sighs of relief, great waves of liberation, opening up each blade of grass to dance freely in the moonlight, unafraid of getting trampled. The trees sing softly in the breeze, a seldom-heard song of distant memories as they reminisce on how things used to be. The leaves on the path rustle excitedly, waiting to be swept up by the bountiful wind as she guides them on her wing to pastures new. And the moon herself, so round and sanguine, showers the whole garden in silvery, Utopian light.
    Â Suddenly everything was still, waiting and watching. Then it came. Nature’s own therapy: healing, cleansing, life-restoring, renewing, invigorating rain. At first it teased with individual droplets chasing each other down the path and into the pond. Then the droplets multiplied into drizzle, the sound echoing around the garden in sheer release, proving there need be no stillness in perfect tranquillity.
    Â There was magic in this garden, just as there is in every garden. The fact that the flowers knew exactly when to bloom, that the birds knew precisely when to mate, that the bees knew how to spread exquisite colour throughout the garden by lavishing their pollen loads in just the right places.
    Â The greatest spell of all was bestowed by the magnificent magnolia tree which stood in the centre, queen of the garden, clinging onto her precious buds until it was absolutely safe for them to open, just as a mother holds onto her children. Mother Magnolia knows her petals cannot shine if she hangs onto them for too long. Then all her