somewhere in my dreams, there is a garden with a gate like this-- bronzey/wrought iron depictions of animals. The beauty of nature being so overwhelming that it commemorated in the things used to enter it--- gates, doors, stones. Maybe its because of the countless times I watched A Little Princess and The Secret Garden... but I think I am searching, sometimes, for the places where literature comes alive. I know they are there. Heaven knows Michael Kenna has found them. People write what they know, they try to pin down beauty in their art. I want to see more gardens. Real ones. Rococo-style and Versailles style. The moors and India. All of it. I need more green.
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