Kingston Lacey, lime trees, vines, shades ...

This morning, we went to Kingston Lacy - the house was still closed to visitors - blinds masked the windows - I imagined the shades of louche aristos moving through the high ceilinged rooms - their footsteps would be whispers of dust upon the marble stairs - 

We walked for an hour or so in the gardens - I admired a stone bench with lichened beasts for arm rests - gravel pathways led us through a parterre to an avenue of lime trees, leafless now under a chill sky - 

There were pale clouds of snowdrops - swirls of daffodils were just coming into flower - gardeners were burning coppiced branches - wood smoke hung in the air like incense - 

We saw the remnants of ancient vines in the vinery - they looked like dark severed limbs - 

Rhubarb forcers were like terracotta bell jars - 

I resolved to return in the summer - I'd linger then, in the Spanish Room - I'd look out for the shade of William Bankes, returned at last from languorous exile - 

12.30

March 2 2015

Kingston Lacy