The garden feels like a true work of love, and rather magical, so I’ve chosen this beautiful Chinese poem by Ping-Hsin for it.

Love

To escape from thoughts of love,

I put on my fur cloak,

And ran out from the lamp lit silent house.

On a tiny footpath

The bright moon peeps;

And the withered twigs on the snow-clad earth

Across and across, everywhere scrawl “Love”.

And I invite you to write about love in the garden today… with a glass of champagne in your hand if you feel like it!

via Writer In The Garden | An idiosyncratic literary tour round English parks and gardens.