Ghost Grove

At first there seems to be no pattern to where the flowers grow. They bloom wildly in each direction, winding up trellises, hanging from vines. There are black and white flowers: snowfrops, black narcissus, white bleeding hearts, black birds of paradise, corpse plants, moonflowers, sage, indian pipe and white and black roses. Some of them look as delicate as carvings of ice, some have a deadly appearance and in the moonlight, shivering in small breezes, they are like nocturnal pixies. If one stands there long enough to appreciate the unplanned harmony, they notice the sequence of black and white that curves out and around them, like a spiral. The spiral unfurls like a silver fern frond, a path leading away from the tent foor. It is wild and untrimmed but elegant and mysterious. The air is heady, with the scents of moonflower, black opium and stargazer lily. The smell of a flower luring nocturnal pollinators. The tent has an opening in the cieling, where the very crest of the canvas is a hold lets in the moonlight, lending a gossamer glower to the garden. Black flowers become shadows, and white flowers are laced with silver, swaying to and fro like ghosts.

Text by Lucie MacAulay