day 2

he stood up and wandered back down the dock toward the sand. the sand felt good, warm and dry on the surface and cool and damp beneath. it took him a while to muster up the courage to go back to the house, but he finally did. he lived in a bungalow along the beach, set off from the sand about a half mile. The house wasn't as spectacular a display of nouvo riche extravagance as many of the other properties along the water, but it held it's own quiet dignity. the builder, Jean, was a bit of an eccentric. While building the house, Jean remembered the gardens that he and his wife visited on their honeymoon in Vancouver. They ferryed out to Victoria Island and spent a weekend touring Buchart Gardens. As a gift to his wife in the new house, he had decided to build her a magical garden that would maintain it's mystique throughout the years. The secret to the cultivation of this garden would be to choose all the right colors in order to complement each other and the right density so that not one plant would have it's roots starved. And then there was the balance. While he couldn't remember any specific plants that were in the garden that inspired him, Jean could not forget the inspiration. The garden was incredible, beautiful, vibrant, intoxicating and slightly frightening and cold at the same time. He wouldn't want to be left on his own in there, as if the beauty and splendor would swallow him whole. And so Jean planted his garden.