I dream of a garden. It is surrounded by high hedges and old, brave, billowing trees. Flowers grow there, and weeds that should be known as flowers, and fruit trees that I keep mostly for their blossom. Part of the garden is its horizons: its shadowy hills and suggestions of a distant sea. I do not want to leave the garden and go to those wilder places, I just want to hold their wild mystery.

Every day in the garden a sun shines gently. Every night it rains. And there is no news in the garden, no people who feel they have to give you the benefit of their opinion, no people who think they can just barge on in. The only information comes by birdsong and breeze. It tells of weather, wishes, peace.

In the garden there is tea. And I can eat all the shortbread biscuits and ginger cake I want without having to worry. I can sit in white dresses, a big rather foolish straw hat, and write whatever I please. No one will call my work brilliant just because it's what they like to read. They'll tell me instead that my pen should echo my own heart. They'll want to read what's true from me. I have roses in the garden, lavender, a dog.

And at night the garden will sigh quietly, and lift its face to the moon-stung clouds, the coming rain. And I'll keep my windows open to the wind, the rain, the scent of garden song.

I am making a garden in my heart. No, you can't come in.


  1. We all want, need, such a garden... of our own, for our own soul's sake.

  2. it's a lovely garden. i'd hope that everyone has something like that, uniquely theirs, in their hearts...

  3. it sounds like a lovely garden that I would like to visit but I think I should create my own garden, it would have lots of old trees, flowers, of course and the rain comes when it gets too hot, the sun would shine when it gets too cold, at night, there will be millions of stars to count and if I can't sleep, books will appear and I would read under the moonlight or starlight.

    I think everyone should create their own little garden even if it's just make believe.

    have a lovely day.

  4. I love this so much and found myself nodding along through every line of it especially:

    'The only information comes by birdsong and breeze. It tells of weather, wishes, peace.'


    'I can sit in white dresses, a big rather foolish straw hat, and write whatever I please...They'll want to read what's true from me. I have roses in the garden, lavender, a dog.'

    Such a garden feels like an invitation to draw near, take notice, and linger. But that last line, 'No, you can't come in', revealed the garden to be something else entirely. It made me think of something Edith Wharton wrote about women over one hundred years ago in her short story, "The Fullness of Life":

    'But I have sometimes thought that a woman's nature is like a great house full of rooms: there is the hall, through which everyone passes in going in and out; the drawing-room, where one receives formal visits; the sitting-room, where the members of the family come and go as they list; but beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors perhaps are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits for a footstep that never comes.'

    As an aside, I just visited Edith Wharton's beautiful gardens last weekend at The Mount, the country house she designed herself in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts. Her garden contained nearly everything you mentioned here, including horizons and shadowy hills. Beginning at the age of thirty-five, she wrote forty books in forty years. She preferred to be with her dogs over people, and she started each day by writing--in bed--until 11 am. Whether there were guests staying at her home or not, she did not leave her room until noon each day.

    'Rooms' were an important metaphor for her. The name of her first book was, _A House Full of Rooms: Architecture, Interiors, Gardens_. Edith loved her garden and viewed it as a kind of room, an extension of the house. She believed, ultimately, that a woman ought to be able to decide for herself what to do with her own rooms. She might invite you in, but then again, depending on the day, she might not.


    1. Thank you SO much for this Sue! 'Room' is my Word for 2018, I even created a blog for it but I burnt myself out with it posting almost daily... But this EW short story is IT - it's what I was searching for, trying to express, but I didn't know it! Truly, I am so deeply grateful - thank you xx

  5. Your garden sounds delightful! I'd like to visit with you there...

  6. Thank you everyone for your comments, I wish I had the time (and properly working computer) to respond individually but please know I read them all and was grateful <3


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