Sonia Feng

HORRACE GARDENS Horrace Gardens was the only place in Springlakes that I felt free. My favourite spot is on the oak bench under the cherry blossom tree. It was a place where I could feel the sunshine break into a myriad of sparkling lights through the tops of the yellow flowers. Their bright green stems waved softly in the breeze around me, as I sat there peacefully listening to the cries of the nearby sparrows perched upon the tree. Horrace Gardens was the heart of the village life, as a tight-knit community we have all grown together and have watched blooming of the garden. I love listening to the far-off cries of children at play drifting into the air, reminding me of lost helium balloons at a fair. I love listening to the muffled sound of cars whizzing by on a nearby freeway. I love the sweet smelling scent of Magnolia spreading across the garden like a plague. Life at Horrace gardens seemed like a perpetual summer. They are often filled with loud aunties who come by and squeeze your cheeks saying look how much youve grown and garrulous uncles drinking beer and cousins chasing each other under the cherry blossom tree, around the blooming, bright hydrangeas, past the trestle tables with nuts, fresh fruits and half-prepared salads. One ordinary day, walking along the pebble pathways I laid across the extraordinarily, ecstatic, green grass I stared into the skies of Springlakes. The darkened clouds lit up the skies sporadically. I could feel the birds absence and the animals subdued manner which made me wonder whether a storm was brewing. I could scent the rain, the start of a thunderous storm finally stopping the drought.