Thursday, January 28, 2016

Red Dreams: January 28, 2016

Charleston Poppy
This garden [Roger Fry wrote] is still for me the imagined  background for almost any garden scene that I read of in books,  The serpent still bends down to Eve from the fork of a peculiarly  withered and soot begrimed old apple tree which stuck out of  the lawn. And various other scenes of seduction seem to me to have taken place within its modest suburban precincts. But It  was also the scene of two great emotional experiences, my first  passion and my first great disillusion. My first passion was for  a bushy plant of large red oriental poppies which by some  blessed chance was actually within the limits of the square yard  of bed which had been allotted to me as my private and particular garden. The plants I bought and glued into the ground  with mud, made with a watering pot and garden mould -- seeds which I sowed never came up to my expectations, generally in fact refused to grow at all but the poppies were always  better than my wildest dreams. Their red was always redder  than any thing I could imagine when I looked away from them.

                                                                                   Roger Fry (16)

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