A Garden is a lovesome thing
It was a beautiful sunny morning in London: rays of the sun penetrated through the skin and made you feel warm, birds were singing everywhere and air exuded the delicate scent of flowers. I left my house and went wherever my eyes lead me. To be honest, I chose the same route which recently became my favorite.
Not far from my house on Cambridge Street there was a road leading to the elite residential buildings located at Eaton Square Gardens. It was called ‘elite’ because there always lived a lot of famous people such as Duchess of Westminster, Natalia Phillips Grosvenor – great-granddaughter of the poet Alexander Pushkin, and godmother of Prince William – heir to the British throne; Gerald Cavendish Grosvenor, the sixth Duke of Westminster, Earl Grosvenor, Viscount Belgrave after whom the square was named; Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain; actress Vivien Leigh and many others.
I was walking through this area and thinking what a special air was there. I called it the ‘air of luxury’. On its streets came across lonely figures of people in expensive clothes, rare car brands. I was walking and walking, not knowing where I go. Complete silence was there. I was walking in this amazing silence and looking around. To both the right and left were the luxurious houses of Victorian style. Behind the turn, I saw something resembling an old park or square.
It was fenced with a beautiful ancient stucco pillar. Inside the park werebizarre sculptures resembling mysterious monuments that came to us as if from space. I went inside the park. Everywhere were a lot of old tall trees, flowers, and even palm trees. Thanks to such a wide range of different plants and sculptors, it created a feeling that you were on another planet.
In the park, there were also public gardens – private gardens owned by residents of nearby houses, access to which was also possible from the side of the house. I began to wonder who might own this or that garden depending on the plants growing there. My game was interrupted when I stumbled upon an old tablet, where was written that an architect Thomas Kabitt began building elegant houses on the territory of present Belgravia, on lands belonging to the Grosvenor family in 1820.
I turned my eyes to the Church of St. Peter which was built in the same year as the public garden, and my eyes were looking at this building a little longer than usual.
I went further and suddenly saw the silhouette of a woman approaching me. I looked closer. She was wearing a floor-length white lace fluffy dress and a hat tied with a pink bow. In her hands was an umbrella. It was hard to say how old the woman was, but her whole silhouette and manner of walking resembled the woman from Lord Byron’s stories.
I could not catch the face of the woman since the shadow from the hat completely covered it. The woman walked slowly towards me.
It would seem that I had to watch this strange passerby heading toward me because there were only two of us in this place.
However, this did not happen. I was distracted from the observation of a woman by the trees, which were somehow strangely swaying and gnashing as if they were saying something.
I looked as if spellbound by these swaying trees. They lulled me as if injected into a trance. I even suddenly thought that I was beginning to fall asleep. When after a few moments, I turned my eyes to the woman again but her trace vanished as if this was just a dream.