A garden full of memories

A garden full of memories; of giants grown from seed and now I pick the conker and the acorn, squirrel's discarded shells of the hazelnut, the fruit eaten the husk scattered among the windblown upon the ground; a cycle complete as the years have passed, the seed planted, the tree grown and the seed returned, first the precious few and now a hundred fold.

I see the chestnut trees, the oaks and silver birch, the pine cone and the hazelnut, the once tiny "Christmas" tree, all now grown so tall and strong as my son has grown to be. All little momentos, treasures found on walks or on the way home from school and stuffed into a pocket with a pebble, a feather and a piece of string. Treasures found on washing day and too great to end in the rubbish bin, so buried safely, given to the earth to be protected and nurtured as all such gifts must be.