This is a private garden in Kent. Peaceful green spaces flowing one into another, whimsical topiary, a pool for eye candy, amphibians for an earful (see below), and sculpture which isn’t at all objectionable even to philistines like myself who more often than not give anything newer than Michelangelo short shrift.
I’ll admit here and now that I mostly go to gardens because my wife likes them and I like her. Our usual routine is that she flits about the flowers like a honeybee while I seek out the nearest shade.
However, something about Marle Place captivated me. I think it started with the pool
Pretty standard as small bodies of chlorinated water go, but something about it pulled me out of my usual drowsinated garden state and made me thirsty for more.
What more can you ask for than a swing? The National Trust doesn’t provide swings (and if they did they’d probably charge extra for it). Even the knot seemed pleasingly tied. I was never a Scout and have no idea what kind it was.
Here was another charmed place to sit for the spell that was being cast on me.
Sculpture was scattered about, fitting right in wherever we stumbled upon it. I was particularly taken by
And what’s this?
Could it be…?
That was very hard for my autofocus to latch on to. Of course, a rusty old bike is almost de rigueur in a garden.
We were served a very nice lunch much coveted by some of the locals
then left, entirely satisfied. That amphibian?
His beloved always seemed to stay one lily-pad ahead of him.