As always I set off into the garden with the best of intentions, a list of jobs to be done. It all started off well, the sun was shining and a slight breeze ruffled the foliage. My main priority, to refill and treat a pond that had been infected with blue-green algae. I turned the water on and waited for the pond to fill. I began contemplating what to do next; standing there in the garden I looked around and realised that from that position I could see a view I hadn’t noticed for a while. I was struck by how much new life was awakening; I felt slowed down as I took in the abundance. Everywhere rose buds were unfurling, leaves breaking free of their restraints. Perfume pervaded the air, carried some distance by a kindly zephyr. And it was all happening quietly, gently, slowly. I felt myself adjust to the langourousness of the pace. I breathed deeply. My soul swelled within me, joy filled my heart. The beauty of it all was debilitating – I had to stop, put away my list and rest quietly in its embrace. As I sat watching birds went about their business, the pond overflowed filling the garden with the sound of water running over rocks. The grass I sat on tickled bare skin, played host to tiny bugs that worked on unconcerned. It was like viewing a quilt, lots of tiny pictures all requiring a respectful attention. Tiny buds hung on bent stems, fern fronds lifted their korus, all in prayerful adoration. I spent quite some time, as though savouring a favourite meal. Now I knew my plans would be for naught. The spirit of the garden had taken hold, the faeries of old had seduced me to the land where time stands still. My surrender was complete.