"One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes." from The Secret Garden by France Hodgson Burnett.
I am involved with a secret garden of my own so Burnett's story is very much on my mind. A favourite from my childhood, I delighted in reading it to my daughter about six years back. Seeing the small shoots of just-planted things, the broad back of newly dug earth, the sweep of light where there was none, birds grabbing the insects and worms is such a thrill, and yet I spend little time in my own garden. There is something about a secret garden, a neglected place ... you can hear the earth sighing as you break it open.