What is it about a garden that gladdens the heart? Even a small garden can convince you that there's still hope for us all. I'm sitting at a tall picture window in central London, watching twilight come to a rain-bedecked garden. I won't tell you where I am – I want this to stay my secret, my sanctuary from the crowds and the noise. But I can give you clues. There's a magnolia tree in the centre of the garden. It's just starting to blossom, and loving but knowing nothing about the magnolia, I find myself wondering anxiously whether it should be blooming today, a cold April 7th. The almost-flowers are white, tinged with pale purple, and from behind my window I'm hoping their scent hasn't succombed to the stench of London's pollution. The branches are bent this way and that, so the overall effect is that of a Balinese dancer, fingers daintily stretched out. It's rather beautiful.
There are daffodils too, and a lilac hued flower I recognise but can't name. And this being London, there's even a rogue traffic cone. But I still won't tell you where I am.
There are daffodils too, and a lilac hued flower I recognise but can't name. And this being London, there's even a rogue traffic cone. But I still won't tell you where I am.
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