On the exterior, the garden appears withered and void of any lushness. There is dulled weeping willow trees, naked hedges and debree on the ground of what once lived......

The irresistable temptation to explore will get the better of you - and as you push away the brittle branches you discover an oasis of unspeakable measures. The vines envelope the cast iron detailing, forever creeping upwards as if there will be no end to it all. There is a small pathway, which disappears into the thick brush leaving behind a calming darkness. Not a threatening one, an intriguing darkness. One where you know no danger can come by it and therefore it is longing for your company.

The leaves whisper soft words of comfort as they rustle lightly - and the elegant breeze plucks the strings of your heart like those of a harp.

And the echoes....

There is an incredible echo. There is no real emptiness but there is solitude. Peaceful solitude in knowing that there is nobody else in the garden with you. All of the beauty and grace is for you, and you alone.

A pond reflects the elements unseen from the soil below. Birds wings beating as they venture from place to place. You bend over for a taste only to see an entire hidden world. The figures underwater are mishapen and hard to distinguish, but they are beautiful all the same. The ripples race for freedom now......

Certain sneaky little rays of light have formed a pattern on the ground. They stretch across the length of grass like dozens of fingers holding onto a hopeless situation. What have they slipped past you wonder?

There is a gate. It is locked, but the rusted hinges ache for exercise. Perhaps if you walk the path, you'll spot a key along the way.