This is a story about a monk who was in charge of a Zen Temple garden. He made sure that all the flower beds, bushes and trees were always kept neat and tidy.

He was thrilled to hear that a famous Zen Master, having heard of the beautiful garden, was coming to see it. On the day before the visit the monk worked tirelessly to make sure that everything was in order.

Accompanied by his students, the Master walked round the garden, smiling approval at everything he saw. Finally he walked over to the tree in the centre of the garden, seized hold of it by the trunk and shook it violently. Leaves showered down all over the ground. He turned to the monk and said, “You have a real garden now.”

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"In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful." (Abram L. Urban)

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Breezes in the long grass ruffling my hair,
Hollyhock and bluebell scenting the air;
Nothing in the world can ever be
Such a sweet memory.
Nothing in the world was ever so fair.

I leave my heart in an English garden,
Safe where the elm and the oak stand by.
Though the years rise and roll away,
Still shall those watchmen stay,
Bold in the blue of an English sky.

I leave my dreams in an English garden,
Safe where the breezes of England blow.
When the highways are dark and drear,
I know there's sunshine here,
Bright where the roses of England grow.
(Christopher Hassall)

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Click to enlarge
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A second series of Pre-Raphaelite paintings has now begun at -
http://myownselection.blogspot.com

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