Melancholy Pleasures
As list'ning to the distant water-fall,
They mark the blushes of the streaky west;
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
Then, when the sullen shades of ev'ning close,
Where thro' the room a blindly-glimm'ring gleam
The dying embers scatter, far remote
From Mirth's mad shouts, that thro' th' illumin'd roof
Resound with festive echo, let me sit,
Blest with the lowly crickct's drowsy dirge.
Then let my thought contemplative explore
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights,
The fruitless toils, that still our search elude,
As thro' the wilderness of life we rove.
I live out in the forest on 15 acres. My house and cultivated garden are in a clearing of two or three acres, but the rest of the property is forest, marsh, and meadow. While visitors tend to focus on the cultivated garden, I experience the forest as part of the garden. My usual daily walk takes me through the forest along a road which leads down to the meadow in a small valley. The property was logged off over 50 years ago and the second growth forest is starting to have the atmosphere of a cathedral. After crossing the sunny meadow, I reenter the forest and walk alongside a small stream until I near the highway. A small footbridge crosses the stream and leads to steps which I have carved out of the steep hillside. At the top of the steps is a path which leads me through my bamboo garden and into the cultivated garden.
I don't really need to create a place for melancholy pleasures because my daily walks lead me through a variety of environments, so one of them is bound to be in synch with my feelings, but how can a small suburban garden fit a full range of moods?
If your garden has an area where the shade is too deep for flowering plants, it may just needs a bench for you to sit on while you think deep thoughts.
I know someone who has an antique gravestone in their garden; this might make some people think about their own mortality, but
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