sunday in dartington gardens, 20 minutes walk through the woods from our house. Most weeks I find myself heading here with little man. Sometimes he sleeps through it all, or his eyes swallow the shadows, shapes, and smells.
these gardens are full of treasure, spilling out at different times of year: stone steps lined with all shades of magnolia, azalieas so vivid they are garish, camellias like giant fried eggs dripping onto mossy paths, swathes of daffodils crawling up grassy slopes, a buddha statue from japan, who recieves daily offerings at his feet; ancient yews, so large and old that their roots are feeding back into heartwood; a silver donkey sculpted by a refugee from Czech Republic; stone walls crowded with blossoms; and on and on.
2 comments:
So it's true what they say about people becoming children in their old age!! His legs look as cute as those of a 15 sth weeks old after a hundred years of rain.
This one's the loveliest!!
mmmmmmmmuaahhhhh!!!
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