In the wake of the recent polar blast, we have been blessed with a series of perfectly beautiful, cloudless days.

Two of these pristine days coincided with a weekend when we weren’t in our usual state of perpetual motion. With a smile on my face I was able to spend time in our rambly garden, marvelling at all the recent growth and admiring what had bloomed since I’d last had time to enjoy the surroundings, rather than rushing down the driveway.

Daffodils, ebullient camellias, jasmine, bougainvillea and rampant giant impatiens all added splashes of colour, counterpoints to the tapestry of greens.

To me, gardens have always been a source of serenity and beauty; a soothing oasis that washes away the worries of the week and the world, albeit for a short time.

Some of my earliest memories are in a garden – my grandmother’s large and well-ordered half acre bordered by giant trees.

I think it is no accident that God planted, so to speak, Adam and Eve in a garden setting – the first garden.

Nor was it a coincidence that Jesus’ last hours of freedom before his crucufixion were spent in an olive orchard, the Garden of Gethsemane.

I think gardens are God’s natural cathedrals and churches. No matter the style, they are wonderful places for prayer and reflection, whether it’s the smallest of courtyard gardens, the wide open spaces of a large municipal botanic garden or a glade in the heart of native bush overhung by the green lace of tree ferns.

The effect I find is the same – one of peace and a grounding that comes from being in God’s presence among the beauty of natural growth.

In our garden we have a stone plaque engraved with the words: “The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth, you are nearer to God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth.”

– Fran Pardon