A tangle of roots lifts the path amid the lazy buzzing of bees, among old zinc watering cans and sun-ripened fruit, faded slides and secrets buried under the moss. Precious things left outdoors, little treasures fallen into a nest of dry petals and good soil.

Never fully tamed, a space of scorching freedom: the iron gate creaks and resists, wrapped in an  unruly wisteria that smells of endless afternoons. The gravel path glares blindingly at noon, but one step takes you into the cool, damp shade of the pergola, where the sprinkler sparkles like stardust and a faded deckchair seems to wait, motionless, for a guest who never arrives.

A topos of literature and cinema, from the “secret garden” to the breathless runs of coming-of-age films, it is the backdrop to grazed knees and daydreams; in this dishevelled paradise on the border between home and adventure, wild insects and flowering meadows compete for  the stage.

No place changes its clothes, inhabitants and secrets with the seasons like the garden. Sultry summer, brilliant autumn, harsh winter or light spring?

Which kind of garden, and in which season,
is up to you…