People talk of places, buildings where they sensed a presence or echoing spirit of some kind. Over the years I’ve experienced this same sense on encountering three or maybe four gardens – the first in my childhood – the last around six months ago.
They’ve all been large or extensive; two of them laid out as structural ‘rooms’. In each of them, I’ve immediately felt like a child as I explored along paths, dipped under arches and rounded corners, peered through glass.
In each of them, I’ve sensed things just out of sight, sounds just out of hearing. In each of them, I’ve sensed the tending – so many hands reaching out to a plant or shrub – so many backs bent low to earth or grass or stretched to tree or trellis. Memories of care.
