I’m very fascinated by gates, so I thought I’d post a few of them. (As you might remember, before the tulips, there was a gate and a garden in the banner.) On the island, I often take pictures of other people’s gates and gardens (someone will appoint me the local loon one day, no doubt; I also crawl around in ditches and do other bad and inappropriate things). We have our own gate, of course. Unfortunately, I never manage to make it look mysterious enough. I assume it has to do with a lack of vegetation, but I don’t know. Nevertheless… I have this dream of a walled garden. A wall made of stone — perhaps even old bricks would do? — clad in ivy and roses. And there would be a wooden gate (like a proper door). Not on the island of course. This idea does not work very well on a barren rock by the sea. (You see, I need to sneak up on other people’s gardens.)
This was one of my favourite stories as a child — The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson-Burnett. I think that’s significant. But I don’t know how and why.
Naturally, the ethereal kiosk has a gate… or let’s be anthroposophical, and call it a guarded threshold. But it’s more like a gate really, a gate in a wall. It’s pretty, but that’s not all there is to it. A wall serves a very serious purpose. Well, we do need to protect the champagne from getting stolen or our favourite visitors from wandering off drunk in the darkness of the night. Also, there are those who chase after bunnies in quite a mindless fashion.
Here are some other people’s gardens. Because the light was splendid. It’s always about the light, you know. In the physical world as in the ethereal kiosk.