Well, not really. I just like to pretend. That’s my dream. I want that garden I imagined as a little girl and then again as an older little girl in college when I read, The Secret Garden. In my mind’s eye there is color everywhere. Ivy is growing in every crack, brick and wall. The stone and brick around the yard is all dark and worn. The trees are so old they hang over the yard like a tent for my own little celebration. You can feel the spirits of all the people who loved the land just as much as you do, but from a different time. Maybe they dreamed there, smiled there, cried there or just looked with wonder as I do. We’re never alone. The history of it all is always with us.
I’m celebrating these little beauties. I planted them early September. They are back and more glorious than ever.