among your flower-children, that they tell you all 

 their secrets of joy. 



I sometimes wonder just when I am happiest in 

 the garden. Is it when I am working with garden 

 tool in spring, my inner vision abloom with dreams 

 of future loveliness, made possible by my labor; or 

 is it when I later on go forth in the early summer 

 mornings with scissors and basket, gathering hun- 

 dreds of roses, and great golden bunches of double 

 sunflowers, and blue bouquets of cornflower and lark- 

 spur? Then again I think it is most restful when 

 I walk about after mealtime, stooping to inquire 

 about the health of some frail plant, hunting ex- 

 pected buds in another, gathering a few ripening seeds 

 here and there, putting a rose branch in place, and 

 then lingering and looking and gloating over the 

 beauty of everything. Again I seem happiest when, 

 the day's work done, I lie in a hammock in the gloam- 

 ing shadows of the pines, enjoying the sunset glint- 

 ing through stencilled leaf form and reflected in dis- 

 tant flower groups, while blackbirds, gathered in the 

 boughs overhead, give that strange cry which thrills 

 the imagination with its wildness, breaking the 

 shackles of domesticated thought. 



But when the moon comes over the eastern turrets 



5 



