As usual, I'm reading books that take me elsewhere. The latest escape is to the Chilterns, in south-east England. Will I ever get there? Probably not.
This particular means of escape is 'Chilterns to Black Country', by W G Hoskins, number 5 in the 'About Britain' series, published by Collins in 1951 as a contribution to the then 'Festival of Britain'.
There will be others who know these better than I do. I'm charmed by ther effort to be comprehensive, by the priority given to their design, quite apart from the appreciation of country they reveal.
Much of the gardens I care for are looking less than their best now, at the end of summer. Most of my work isn't creative; it's hard slog.
Above is the shambles of Coventry Cathedral after its bombing during WW2. Whatever's gone wrong in my garden is nothing at all compared to such devastation.
There are roads leading out of wherever we may be. Perhaps they lead to better places?
I can't always trust the present I find myself in, though I will act as if I do. Do I know, at any point in time, the best road to take? Wherever it must be, I am not afraid. Let my steps be unhurried but sure.