Links can be followed to the evolution of my garden here: 



June 30, 2013.  It is a true friend who can dream dreams of and for us when needs arise.  I have such a friend.  Her name is Cindy.  I met her in 1990 as I worked on a Native American reservation as an art therapist with a caseload of 40 abused, neglected and traumatized children ages 3-12.  She was a social worker in child protection services at the time.  We are still solid friends all these years later.

Yesterday Cindy called to tell me of her visit to my home in her dream the night before.  I didn’t live where I do now.  My garden wasn’t here, either.  I can only begin to glimpse what she saw in her vivid dream, but this is what she told me.  If you do an online search for “cliff dwellings” of which there are so many in the American southwest you can visualize part of what follows:

I came to visit you in my dream.  You were living in a little house right at the edge of the Grand Canyon with only a narrow driveway between your place and the steep cliffs of the canyon walls.  I was too afraid to look down them!

I asked to see your gardens, but I was too afraid there would be snakes so we decided to drive to look at them, but you wouldn’t let me drive.  You drove.  I could see the gardens as we approached them and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

You had built the gardens up the sides of steep rising cliffs like they were cliff dwelling places.  Flowers trailed all the way down the steep sides, traveled across the walls and grew up them, as well.  There were flowers of all kinds and colors and shapes and sizes.  Some were climbing trellises, some in hanging baskets.  I don’t know how you got them up there.  You must have been as good at climbing as mountain goats are.  I don’t know how you kept them watered, either.  But they were so gorgeous!

Well, that does sound like something I would do if I could!


Cindy is a gifted lucid dreamer.  Her gift to me of her dream about my garden gives me thoughts to hold onto as I anticipate the future when I will leave this land where I have been living to move on, move elsewhere, leaving my garden to most likely die of neglect in our scorching sun.

It also reminds me that I may be able to remove and take with me at least some of the 22 climbing roses and other plants.  I can anticipate none of this until I actually know where I will be moving to.  Meanwhile, I keep the garden alive in the very last hottest days that are required in this high desert region before our summer monsoons arrive.  When those days of sweet rain and blooming plants arrive I will take my last pictures of this garden thriving right where I have put it — for now.


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