I helped my friend to clean the strawberry fields for weeds yesterday. Her family has an enormous garden. I walked around singing Simon and Garfunkel's Scarborough Fair and Goldfrapp's Road to Somewhere, feeling that I wanted to camp there in a big pointy tent wearing nothing but big, flowing clothes.
Today I read something that made me think about the garden. I love how Virginia Wolf turns signs of spring and being in love into a similar context. This is from Mrs. Dalloway: "... But of all this what could the most observant of friends have said except what a gardener says when he opens the conservatory door in the morning and finds a new blossom on his plant: -It has flowered; flowered from vanity, ambition, idealism, passion, loneliness, courage, laziness, the usual seeds, which all muddeled, made him shy, and stammering, made him anxious to improve himself, ..."
Lyon, 8th of April 2011
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