The Botanical Gardens at Winterborne

I’m sitting on one of those wooden benches. Yes, those that appear in Notting Hill, the movie starring Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts, remember? Benches that commemorate love: “John and Vicki” reads one. “George and Alice, for the happy hours shared at this garden” says another one. “James (1897-1945) and Kathleen Young (1903-1983)”: she outlived him almost forty years but they’ re still together in the bench. “Susannah Salisbury (1906-1986) and Edward Salisbury (1907-1980) There was always love.”
If only someone could one day read a similar inscription with my name carved on it beside that of a man who could be remembered for spending happy hours in a garden with me. A chance in a billion, I think with a long sigh, though still quite unable to pluck out the thought or the wish. Is this part of a new movie or just the repetition of the same old scenes in a new location? Alas, I can’ t tell. I can just let go and watch the explosion of rhododendrons along the walk. A shiny peacock strolls past me, unwilling to open his magnificent tail. I take out my camera but a second later I realize I’m about to make the same mistake again: wait for something to happen. So I put it back into my purse and breathe deeply to grab the delicate mix of perfumes floating in the spring air. The afternoon is just perfect, with a slight breeze that sways the millions of leaves and petals. Birds tune up their melodies and the sun casts all its rays on me. There’ s nothing to wait for. It’s all here.