Lovely day. 22 degrees C in the shade of the catslide.
Planted peas and parsley.
Visited a garden which, along with its keepers, is so vulnerable that it's whereabouts should remain a secret. Nature is reclaiming the beds, borders, orchards and bowers laid out by worthy Victorian clergymen to feed the bodies and souls of their burgeoning famillies. I walked on lawns of primrose and cowslip under bridal white blossom - ghosts of yesteryear around each corner. A wilderness. Gates hung askew. Roses whipped unkempt off drunken pergolas. Nettles threatened ankles. Sweet birds sang.
Its elderly owners; fragile as that blossom, skin as papery-fine and bones as twig-like, hovered - put out of place by their invited guests. Their garden's deshabille so matter of fact - they and it in glorious decline together. A breathe of wind could blow them to paradise were they not there already.
4 comments:
hi there! found your blog courtesy of Little Neo's directory. Really enjoyed reading your thoughts, you've a great way with words. Cheers!
~willow~
Thank you for your kind words. It's always good to get some feedback.
A beautifully written description of what must be a truly beautiful place...
asparagus progress happily shared. Although we have heaps of native primroses, the cowslips are in hiding - I will wave your piccy around to encourage them!
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