A dove? A ghost? A handkerchief? What had I seen? Davidia Involucrata, her doves, her handkerchiefs draped gently along branches, timed to perfection for my visit. Davidia, my dad’s namesake? A derivation of, from Hebrew, meaning beloved, friend, darling, favourite. But here, a tree as yet unseen to me. A majesty, tall and brave; one to stand still among and watch – you may catch the fall, like fluttering snowflake, of one of her treasures.
A garden here of Buddhas and statues, houses tucked below stairs, pillar box red bridges, standing bold and bright, daring you to stay, to soak up ponds with their many jewels. To say there are trees is to say the sky is blue; here there is abundance of hue and size and shape, paths guiding yet freeing your step to wander, absorb.
And, yes, the calm implores me again; calls in its whisper to quiet the mind and still the soul. I observe myself there over, again; each time I return to Davidia with her handkerchiefs and doves. My symbol of peace.
© Liz Mackenzie