The very idea. My lord, please. These trees are but twenty feet tall. I am old and my heart aches. For I cannot hope to see the joy and pleasure the incarnation of my vision when all will see it and love it as I do, now.
Perfection is reachable in stages, but never quite reached.
Like the garden, this web is evolving . Some areas are sure to grow . Just as others are sure to wither on the stem. Yet, from the decay of the compost heap, new life emerges. The caretaker gets the desired bloom in the end .