Late yesterday I walked the garden at nightfall. The atmosphere was so redolent of memory and emotion I won’t attempt to describe it. I think these photos, taken between 7:47 and 8:11 pm, do that. The air was cool, the sky clear. A bird I didn’t recognize occasionally sqawked its harsh, angry call of warning from somewhere in the tangled undergrowth.
Memory, I say.
For me, the idea of a garden comes from early memories. Over time, cultural and historical overlays may influence garden preferences, but my memories of early childhood have always seemed to trump “learned” things.