© Janet Davis

 

Sun-filled, vibrant with color, brimming with humor and joy, the California garden would soon spill across the pages of several glossy magazines, celebrating the wit, skill and artistry of its owners.  

 

But on this day, visitors from the tour bus dashed madly along its paths, jabbering excitedly about this unusual fountain, that gorgeous plant, this amusing vignette, that enchanting iron gate.  As they bent to snap photos of the fringed blue blossoms of love-lies-bleeding, little bits of their backsides reflected off hundreds of glittering pieces of mirror that had been embedded in an artful, concrete garden sofa.  Scarlet corn poppies swayed in the breeze, the resident rooster held court on the back of a weathered teak garden chair, and the air was heavy with the scent of brugmansia.

 

The visitors had been invited to enter the house and as I wandered into the darkened kitchen, I was struck immediately by the contrast this cool oasis presented to the garden.  Outside was chattering birdsong and voices and laughter; here was the sound of silence.  Outside was a world ebullient with blossoms and foliage and brilliant color, here was almost ascetic restraint.   There sun, here shade.  Yin and yang.. 

 

I gazed through the little window over the kitchen sink, thinking that this was a vantage point the owners surely would have selected to observe the garden in all its glory.  Instead, I beheld a neatly-framed tableau, just inches from my face:  a still-life of jungle-like, backlit leaves and mere glimpses of color beyond.  It was like a painting come to life, a canvas that shifted in the breeze and altered in intensity and hue from morning to night.

 

I thought of  vindauga , the Norse word that gave rise to the Old English word “window”.  It means “wind-eye” – literally an eye in the wall to let in the wind.  And I wondered when we came to expect that our windows must not merely admit wind and light, but also perfectly frame the view beyond.

 

In that cool, dark room overlooking the garden, I believe I came to appreciate the delicious possibility of a room without a view.

 

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