Use the talents you possess –
for the woods would be a very silent place if
no birds sang except for the best.
[Henry Van Dyke]
In the illustration world, this would be called a “graphite rendering.” In the rest of the world, this is a pencil drawing — a #2, yellow, bought-at-the-grocery-store pencil drawing. I drew this to illustrate the following poem that I composed.
My Charleston Garden
by Katherine Misegades
I love to watch the flowers bloom across my window sill;
The tulips stop their nodding heads now that the breeze is still.
The daffodils like sunbeams glow beyond the fountain stand;
They seem to watch as on the rim the morning robins land.
Wisteria hangs in graceful curves above the garden wall,
Its fragile bloom of purple weeps as raindrops on it fall.
A burst of fuchsia rings the path, the azalea explodes in bloom;
The crocus buds are almost gone as if they had no room.
On the trickling water in the pool, the last camellia floats;
It puts me in mind of pixies, elves and tiny faerie boats.
Heart-shaped leaves are growing now as the redbud blossoms fade;
By summer’s heat they will spread deep and cooling shade.
The ballast brick of the carriage house supports a trellis tall;
Soon the rambling rose will climb and put on buds ’til fall.
The gardenia will send its sweet perfume as it grows beside the door;
The shadows of the dogwood tree will stretch across my floor.
The heavy iron gate’s ajar that leads to the garden path;
Come sit with me on the marble bench and we’ll watch the birds at bath.
We’ll sip some tea from china cups beneath the moss-hung tree;
We’ll eat tiny cakes from the cut-glass plate that Grandma gave to me.
My garden’s meant to share with all who come to see it bloom;
Its memory gives me warmth and hope in winter’s chilly gloom.