04 March 2012

Take One, Take Two

Two back-to-back afternoon adventures in the Gardens

Take One: Thursday Afternoon

Through an umbrella of ferns  

and towering trees we wander

Finding that rather than hiding from it
we can embrace the rain beginning to fall and the feel of wet
by creating our very own water features

Somewhat in awe of the height we can achieve

And tickled pink that our squirts might just reach mummy

Then two cherubs find their own angelic tunes
Although the back up singer is looking less than enthused at this point

So instead they try dancing to their own beats

In a concert just for me

 Despite the even steadier rainfall 
we still find time to marvel at the never ending orb

And find an entrance that just might lead us to Narnia!

Take Two: Friday Afternoon

Our adventure takes us into the more formal part of the Gardens

Friday work attire still adorning some

The warmth of the begonia house envelops and surrounds 

We see the tiny fish pitter and patter against the silken surface 

It ripples the reflections we see

It is both fascination and contemplation all in one 

We encounter delicate marshmallow buds looking good enough to eat

Before seeking out the Peace Waterfall

Where remembrance and contemplation are held in the eternal flame

Burning a lasting reminder of that terrible day
Hiroshima, 1945

But they, yet too young to appreciate the fragility of life

They just enjoy the quacking ducks and the fact that leaves do grow on roofs

And finally to the Dell
where a production set is all ready for Shakespeare's Twelfth Night performance

Alas, a weather bomb is predicted and the show has to be cancelled for the night

I am implored to play and so must ditch my boots and tights somewhat inelegantly
for a barefoot game of tag in the Dell

We run and jump and piggy back and tag and horsey ride until the rain begins to fall.

Gently, and then with gathering momentum.

Halting our energetic proceedings.

And for which this mummy, though delightfully happy 
just to be with her boys
but also tired at the end of the long working week
is secretly mildly grateful.

We leave the colourful huts behind to await a lonely night
unsure of their fate as the mother of all storms 
begins to creep ever closer to this land.

And it is to home we now return, 


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