Bewildering

BLOOMERS

 

Just as expected, the Custodians, Gardeners of Canterbury Royal Gardens are waiting near the carriage lane to conduct the gentry to the show that will happen shortly. It is June one and everything is ready for the explosion. All the bulbs, cuttings will burst into bloom simultaneously. Eyes pop as the wild , breathtaking riot of colors become reality. The red roses are a field afire, pink tulips look like hundreds of baby cheeks. There is loud applause. Yellow jonquils have been cross -bred with blueberry iris and the blue sky grows on this blessed earth.

 

My pallet and easel, my brushes are ready and I splash my canvas with huge dripping globs of color. Miraculously they do not run together. God must be guiding them to remain pure, clean. The sun makes them glow like diamonds on the queen's crown. Fountains gently spray the flowers that continue to grow before our eyes. Surely they are all taller than the Prince of Aragon, almost six hands high. Yellow pollen from the chrysanthemums blow towards Sir Alfred's maze. Before the sun hides for the night they are visible above the hedges.

 

The astounding beauty, the strangeness of it all, loses its glory. Darkness frightens all to leave. Torches are lit. Faces that a short while ago had beamed with pleasure, excitement, have furrowed brows. The order and casual attitude of the officials, lords, ladies becomes dictatorial. 'Keep in order. Do not rush. Your carriages will be waiting.'

 

The groundskeeper is the first to arrive in the morning. There is much he must do to remove any bloom that may possibly have wilted, smooth the stone path, trim the hedges in the maze. He decides to do the most difficult job first and walks into the maze. Right turn, straight, pass two left ones, turn right twice, go into the first small opening. And there he finds something white lying on the gravel. It looks soft, not dangerous. He puts on the gloves he wears when handling prickly shrubs and picks up the white thing, fluffs it out and is aghast. 'My Lord,' he shrieks. 'These are bloomers. I recognize them. They are  Lady Aston's.' He stuffs them in his jacket, finishes the maze trimming, and secretly burns them in a discrete corner of the palace forest.

 

Lady Aston never asks if he happened to find them.