Separating these two worlds is a gate, which I like to call "The Magic Gate". It was once white, but has faded now, and is covered with a gnarled old rhododendron vine, making painting impossible. It's old, but it's solid, and I expect it to be around a long time.
I don't know why I think of it as magic. Perhaps doorways are like that. You never really know what's going to be on the other side of them -- even if you think you can clearly see it. You have to walk through to discover what's there.
So far all I've found beyond the Magic Gate is the compost heap, tucked against the exposed roots of a huge, fallen beech tree, but I'm pretty sure there are other things -- I just can't see them.
Last fall I decided the perfect way to make the Magic Gate even more magic would be to thread some solar lights through the rhododendron branches. What could be more wonderful than, as darkness fell, the gate lit up by lights that came on all by themselves?
I went online and soon found what I thought I was looking for. A little on the pricey side, but -- what the heck -- it would be magical!
When they arrived I was disappointed. They were tiny, and the colour, when I finally saw them lit up, reminded me of a bus station washroom. Oh well. Not to be deterred, I, with a great deal of help from Ian, strung them into the branches and on the gate, and for a few nights it was magical, even if the colour wasn't.
Later: Part two, or "I sure hope solar panals work better than these things or Al Gore doesn't stand a chance!"
