What a perfect place to write.
Courtyard Garden
“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.”-The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
Daily Diversion #164: Secret Garden
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea.
Not just a blog, a philosophy
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 
The perfect place to write is anywhere other than where I’m sitting!
LikeLike
Ha! I often feel that way, too, which is one reason I am working on my studio space until it is just so. 🙂
LikeLike
This is exquisite. I’m afraid nothing I could write would match this beauty.
LikeLike
It was so pretty. I wish I’d had the time to sit still for a few minutes and write some things in a notebook.
LikeLike
So lovely. I hope you don’t mind but I just wrote this poem because of the beauty of your picture.
THE GARDEN GATE
the gate
was closed
to keep
things in
as well as
keep them out
but butterflies
not knowing that
just tumbled all about
the bees and humming birds
did fly and flutter through the air
without each and every one of them
there’d be no garden there
LikeLike
I will never mind you writing a poem inspired by any of my photos, or anything else on this blog. It is an honor, especially twice in one week. It is awesome, and made my day. 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you. Your blog inspires me on the spot and the words have to go somewhere:) Thank you for letting me write here. Hope you are feeling better, even a little. I’m thinking about you.
LikeLike
You have an open invitation to write here. Never worry about my reaction, because I will always be happy and honored!
I am feeling better, finally! Thanks so much for your kind words and support. I hope all is well with you, too.
LikeLike
What a great picture. I love The Secret Garden, but I think I prefer The Little Princess. Colonial India intrigues me and when the girl’s father comes back at the end! Sigh.
LikeLike
You should go re-read it, then.
I think that the secret garden in my photo is enough to make anyone feel like minor royalty. I wish I lived nearer by it, though.
LikeLike
There’s something about gates . . . the excitement of what’s on the other side. When I lived in Brooklyn I had my own secret garden behind my apartment. There was a brick wall and I planted ivy which thrived. The space was completely enclosed by other buildings and scrubby trees. It was my only creative outlet at the time and I went crazy on it, squeezing flowers in beside my kids in their stroller. Sitting there once the garden bloomed brought all sorts of birds and happiness. Neighbors used to call from their windows thanking me for the tiny patch of wild beauty. What fun it was knowing other people enjoyed it.
LikeLike
This sounds like the makings of a short story, or a series of meditative essays. Beautiful!
LikeLike
Thanks.
LikeLike