Tea in the Garden

They are calling for rain in a few days, so I have decided to take my computer out to the garden. It is a walled-in garden to protect the plants from the apparent hordes of rabbits that roam about in search of gardens to munch on. I have not seen any yet, but there are plenty of morning doves and pigeons cooing rather loudly in the trees and the distant traffic hums in the background. To enter the garden you must use a new key on a red chain in the shape of a very old Skeleton key to open a red door that creaks with the groan of age. They have built a glassed in cafe by the Fernery that usually runs on the weekends, but not this weekend. The administration has been short staffed, and in need of some time off, so they decided to take a holiday from the hugely successful Beer and Berries Festival they had the weekend before we arrived to re-group. So I have the place to myself this morning, while the sun warms up for another beautiful summer day. 

Last night was utter magic with the rising of the red summer moon over the North Sea. There was a group that walked down to the beach to watch the moon rise, but after walking back and forth to the beach once already yesterday, where I walked a long length to soak my sore feet in the salty water, I bowed out and stayed in. But from our perch in the towers of the castle I could see the Super Moon in all its glory rising out of the water into the cloudless sky.

So I have made a pot of tea, wrapped it in a tea towel, and filled my back pack to sit in the garden this morning. Can’t ask for much more when you have planned a writing retreat. I even found the water bottle I had accidentally left behind after we all shared a lemon tart for the Residency’s Director’s Birthday party yesterday.

Yesterday I spent part of the evening collecting lavender from the garden to press. I am thinking of trying to weave them into some form of paper. They have a massive nipping press that I am experimenting with. 

Ahh, the head gardener and grounds keeper has arrived, with little Isaac trailing along. A quiet, sleek Whippet whom we have been warned is learning how to keep to himself and not bother the residents. He always seems so sad with his head slightly lolling down and his eyes in a perpetual look of wariness and dread. But when he sits he has the stance of a Sphynx. The sun is beginning to rise higher, splashing through the leaves of the maples and elms that surround the property. The volunteers who come to help with the garden should be arriving soon disturbing the peace and quiet. No worries, so far the days are full and gentle. I find my way from one spot to the next.

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