And over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here and there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and white and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and scents. And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a lovely touch. — From The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
I took dozens of pictures in the Wisley Gardens and could have taken hundreds. Even though the gardens weren’t at their peak, they were absolutely stunning. This was my welcome to England. I’m so grateful to my friends, Martin and Mary Owton, for taking me to Wisley, and I’m glad I fended off the jetlag so I could see it that morning.
Sleep can wait when there are gardens.