The Garden
It is Sunday, another beautiful day. It is the kind of day that makes you wish for a large garden in which to wander among late summer blooms while imbibing a kaleidoscope of colors and scents — a human hummingbird syphoning sweet, lovely nectar that is somehow never too sweet and never too lovely, no matter how much one overindulges. The garden I am thinking of has country benches nestled alongside slightly trodden paths upon which one can sit and relax and release into the air the accumulation of woes and stresses that while imprisoned within scar the psyche. The garden I’m thinking of is a place to gather one’s thoughts, to read a book, to sketch a landscape, even if one can’t draw. The garden I’m thinking of is an inviolable, though temporary, sanctuary, a small refuge from which one shelters himself from the hustle and bustle for an hour or two.
One can find gardens in greenhouses, but that is not the same thing. Greenhouses are hermetically sealed enclosures that cut off everything within from nature. They are artificial, ugly constructions. Whenever I enter a greenhouse, I am overcome by an uncomfortable feeling of otherness — a not very friendly world, a world in which the air hangs heavy and wet and is saturated with foreboding. Even the plants and shrubs take on a sinister presence in a greenhouse, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to lash out with long-limbed tentacles and haul in unsuspecting guests. No, as soon as I enter a greenhouse, I am overcome with the urge to exit.
If you don’t have your own garden and happen to be in the Washington D.C. area, visit The U.S. National Arboretum. The USNA is a giant garden open to all. I went there last year and will go again soon. Like my imaginary garden, but many more acres in size, it too has a kaleidoscope of colors and scents and trails and paths with benches. There are also exhibit and events you can attend, and it’s all free. It’s so big, you can hang around with others among the more popular exhibits or wander the many trails on your own.
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