These photos are from a brief nostalgic walk I took through Beauchamp Park last week. The plantings in this park have an unusual emphasis on the vertical -- ornamental red ginger and camellia trees under a high eucalypt canopy. The soaring effect is beautiful and spacious. And the garden beds are organized almost like a maze within the lawn -- a perfect location for the treasure hunts we had for our daughter's birthday parties year after year. The winding path through the bushes, with its feeling of movement, — I want to follow it — brings back the voices and excitement of the children. The piñata with its strings, the balloon animals we made, the eager searching for trinkets hidden high and low in bushes — all gone and yet vivid in memory’s afterlife. The poet Yves Bonnefoy understood so well the ambiguity that remains in a place where love happened: “The world which was, yesterday, so intimately lived, and somehow understood, has from now on become, in a deep way, enigmatic. The little garden where we used to play, with its tree, has now become both intensely close and mysteriously silent.” (The Arrière-pay, trans. Stephen Romer).