Garden Observations: A Garden in the Dark

A Garden in the Dark

I stepped into my garden early one morning this week, intent on printing a few plans for the day's work. But before I could take more than a few steps into the darkness, I was stopped, not by sight, but by scent. A sweet, warm, enveloping fragrance hung in the cold air, almost like Honey or sweet baby powder.

My first thought turned to my neighbour's garden, but as I moved further along the path, the smell intensified. Then it came to me: the Viburnum x Bodnantense had begun to flower. Drawing closer to confirm my suspicion, I found the scent grew richer, more complex, unmistakably the source of this aromatic embrace.

It reminded me how gardens assault our senses in the most wonderful ways, often without requiring us to physically enter them at all. A view glimpsed through a winter window. The brush of foliage against your hands as you pass. Or, as on this dark morning, a perfume that transforms the entire space into something magical. This is what sets a garden apart from every other element of a property, it lives, breathes, and reaches out to meet you.