I peered over my shoulder as if saying goodbye to an old world, and then gazed forward into my new one, even if only for a few minutes. I took my first step on a journey to find a new meaning of beauty. Shuffling past rocks, I cautiously made my way to the arch that lay ahead.

The arch stood tall with twisted metal forming sophisticated patterns from the start to the finish. Creepers playfully twirled around bars, engulfing the structure in its green length and equally sophisticated purple and white flowers. The flowers, unscented, drifted down, but before they reached the ground, were swept away on the back of a gentle breeze.

Taking two steps forward, I came across a beauty so rare, a kind that only good poets write about. This garden was a picture that only great artists could recreate. Every now and then, leaves would drift and play in the wind, forming the pictures in a fairytale. Bursts of colour shouted from every corner of the splendid hide-away garden. From the delicate, smooth daffodils, the textured red hot pokers to the confident bougainvillea hedge, there was a variety of shapes and colours, all demanding individual attention.

An old concrete fountain stood in the middle of the garden, begging for its beauty to be admired. The white paint flaked, falling in the wind like snow on a winter morning. The water that lay in the pond beneath glimmered as the peering sun shone through its ripples.

I was propelled forward, deeper into the garden by a curiosity that was too strong to control. An old swinging chair lay in the furthest corner. It sat lonely, under a majestic leopard tree that comforted it within its shade. The once white swing still had chips of paint clinging to its sides as if trying to hold onto the memories of yester year. I lowered myself carefully onto the swing for fear of its rusty hinges giving up the fight. I could almost imagine warm summer evenings when children would sit in this very spot on their parent’s laps as they were told light-hearted stories. I could hear the youthful laughter. I could feel the joy their young lives held so much of.

Leaning back, I closed my eyes and started my journey to all the wonders that could not be seen. There was the sound of crickets, chirping in synchronicity as the late afternoon sun sank. One could faintly hear the quick scurry of lizards and insects. Birds occasionally flapped noisily from one branch to another. Every now and then, the distant sound of the busy life I was trying to escape could be heard. Apart from these, all was silent and all that could be heard was the quiet beating of my own heart and my slow, steady breathing.

Bursts of fragrance drifted through the light air, calling me closer. The air was crisp, sweet and fresh and the light breeze that occasionally blew did a teasing dance with the hair that lay across my shoulders.

To me, what seemed like beauty in my old world of not so long ago was pushed down to size and seemed average compared to what lay before me. My new world was a place to find inner peace and comfort, to let me know that the world can be a beautiful place and a place of quiet tranquility.