A long time ago one of us sent the other a photograph of a quotation which read 'to cultivate a garden is to walk with God'. I had been contemplating our own garden, meagre but never-the-less faithfully producing spring flowers. A sense of reward after the waiting, the cultivating, the slow walk of winter, as I studied the unfolding petals of the milk yellow tulips. Reminded that the process is so important and the flowering so beautiful. Later a friend gave me these flowers from her own garden. As I walked home the electricity box and the dark brick wall seemed so bare. They seemed to cry out that they too wanted to take part in the spring blossoming. Perhaps an unsuitable resting place for the flowers, a small subversive act to place them there but somehow they seemed to fit. Or maybe to adorn something unsuitable with such extravagance is not so strange after all, more like an act of grace.
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