'Twas a damp, chilly evening gone by
When the bats were declining to fly.
All the branches were stooping and the flower heads drooping
And the trees uttered never a sigh.
Nevertheless, my garden looked rich and resplendent in the vaporous twilight. There are no hard lines in it now; every corner and edge is softened by overhanging growth and the colours of flowers. Levels climb from the emerald green lawn, to the stately foxgloves, to the tops of fruit and lilac trees, and upwards to the crowns of my old friends the mighty sycamores. It felt truly like a corner of Avalon this evening.
The only sadness is that there’s no one here to feel it with me. I find it odd that the perception of beauty should be so heightened by the sharing. I wonder why that is. Why should it feel somehow inadequate to experience the magic and splendour of nature alone?
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