The frozen garden ...

One morning last week, I left the house to enter a Ballardian crystal world - the cars were glittering frozen creatures - each blade of grass, each tendril of ivy, each fallen pine cone, was sheathed in frost - the twigs of the apple tree were like thin silver fingers - the pale sunlight fell like icy water upon the garden - 

I remembered reading Ballard's novel - perhaps if I lingered here, my body would be cocooned in crystals, my eyes would become blue jewels - 

I turned away from the shining lawn, going back inside - I picked up The Strange Library - it was half past eight in the morning - I sipped some Quinchia coffee - outside, small birds flew over the transformed garden - 

08.30

23 January 2015

The garden of The Old School House

East Stoke

Isle of Purbeck