Monday, August 29, 2016

  If you are a gardener, ( and if not, my deepest sympathies) you will be transported to glory by this piece.

 "Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old garden had its charms. On summer mornings I used to rise early, to enjoy them alone; on summer evenings, to linger solitary, to keep tryst with the rising moon, or taste the kiss of the evening breeze, or fancy rather than feel the freshness of dew descending. The turf was verdant, the graveled walks were white; sunbright nasturtiums clustered beautiful about the roots of the doddered orchard giants. There was a large berceau, above which spread the shade of an acacia; there was a smaller, more sequestered bower, nestled in the vines which ran all along a high and grey wall, and gathered their tendrils in a knot of beauty, and hung their clusters in loving profusion about the favored spot where jasmine and ivy met and married them." Charlotte Bronte.

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