The Potomac River from below Alexandria, Virginia, ca. 1895, by Frances Benjamin Johnston, via Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.
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To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
-- Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Spring"
A green delight the wounded mind endears/ After the hustling world is broken off.
-- John Clare, from "Solitude"
Methinks my own soul must be a bright invisible green.
-- Henry David Thoreau
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
-- Thomas Edward Brown, from "My Garden"
If this garden is not Paradise, then why like Paradise,/ Does it create happiness through its inner life?
-- Saba (Fath Ali Khan), from "A King's Garden World"
I have a certificate in Landscape Design from George Washington University. I’m also a State Department Foreign Service spouse and have lived and made gardens in five countries in Africa and in the Washington, D.C., area.
I currently live in Kigali, Rwanda.
Contact me: firstname.lastname@example.org
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