Spring is in the air and I’ve become a bit obsessed about my garden.
We moved into a new house last year which has a north facing garden. The only sunny spot is taken up by a garden shed. So that has to go. At the moment, our garden consists of some sad looking shrubs, a few struggling herbs and a lawn that is slowly turning to moss (much to my delight).
It got me thinking about gardens as a place to write, and a place of inspiration. From the humble writing shed of George Bernard Shaw to the riotous, rambling garden at Charleston there are lots of associations that spring to mind. A place to unwind, a place to satisfy the senses, a place to think.
“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
I’d love space for a writing shed in my garden, but at 5m by 9m in size, it’s not really going to happen. Perhaps a writing nook would suffice?
I’ve got a summer of back-breaking work ahead of me. Shifting dirt and putting up fencing. It’s going to be a while before I can relax and enjoy the space. But until then,I can read the words of others.
“The green garden, moonlit pool, lemons, lovers, and fish are all dissolved in the opal sky, across which, as the horns are joined by trumpets and supported by clarions there rise white arches firmly planted on marble pillars…” ― Virginia Woolf, The String Quartet