I like to think that all parts of my garden give wonderfully amazing experiences, but I know that’s not true. However there is one particular time and one particular place where it becomes magic and a little glimpse of heaven is briefly revealed. Let me help you visit that time and place.
This is the place; in this picture you are there, stood on one of the tree rounds underneath the flowering cherry, looking back at the garden. One of its lower branches is brushing your head. It’s a late Spring evening and it’s finally warm. A chorus of birds are twittering, chirping, singing and flapping in trees all around. In the air, insects lazily fly by and bees buzz busily around the ornamental currant flowers, getting in the last of the nectar. Invisible tendrils of sweet heady fragrance from the wisteria come and go as you breathe. The garden is in dappled shade from the setting sun, brighter patches appearing and disappearing with the whim of the leaves.
The moment is close; look down and see the soil, grass and plants decorated in the pink of countless scattered flower petals, you’ve even managed to pick some up on your shoes. Look up to see the countless blossom flowers so heavy and thick that only a few small glimpses of the blue sky beyond can be seen.
This is the time; the bamboo leaves rustle, the white spirea shines and a sudden playful gust of wind rushes across the tree tops. Then it happens; the cherry branches bow and lilt and pink blossom begins to fall around you like a gentle rain, as confetti in the wind. That is the perfect moment, just there. The sum of it all lasts barely a minute, but it’s indescribably beautiful and utterly moving.
As quickly as it came, it’s over. The breeze dies down, the birds quieten for the night, the sun sets and the evening cools as the light fades. You can go out again every evening while the blossom is out but it won’t repeat, there will always be something missing. Instead, you’ll have to wait for a whole year, until everything is just right for that perfect moment to come again.
This has happened just once a year, for the last few years and as I finish this post, I have another whole year (minus a few weeks) to wait again for the next time. Meanwhile, memories of this year’s replay in my head, sending shivers down my spine as I recall the point when the garden became an eye wateringly beautiful paradise, for just a moment.