The second strand of Saturday’s ‘practical’ was happening concurrently in space and time with the first, so they commented upon one another in curious ways. This is the simplified version: on liminality.
A secret garden is sandwiched between the wall of the cathedral grounds and the wall along the road. I don’t know if the gates are locked.
It’s tantalising to see the very tops of the secret plantings, but the owners have made a narrow public garden along the foot of their private wall.
The grass verge along the road was suddenly stoppered by a wattled fence; but perhaps only to stop bicycles riding straight into ….
this very beautiful small garden, gifting its white lilac and lavender to any passer-by, the stones laid at intervals next to the pavement saying, Look, but don’t touch.
A gap only just wide enough for one led into a green space.
Continuous hedging suggested privacy, but the local young knew better and were picnicking, lolling, footballing and turning cartwheels.
The boundary is purely imaginary until someone comes to play cricket, but those of us passing through walked outside it, and the cartwheels and picnic and lolling were happening at the edge.
The fence round the wicket was barely visible, yet was scrupulously respected by the footballers.
As a public space it was so private that it was difficult to find the way out. Pushchairs or wheelchairs would not have got in at either of the openings I used. Perhaps there is a larger one on the far side of the field; but that is a secret too.