The changing of the floral guard in the gardens is as luxuriantly lovely as it is inexorable, but even so as each floral offering arrives at its moment of crowning glory, our aesthetic senses swoon at their presence. At least mine do. My eyes feast on the glorious colour, texture, fragrance presented with each new appearance. As though nature carefully choreographs each entry stage-left of her flora, while we gape in wonder.

From the time in early spring when the garden beds look promising after their winter cover has melted, but appear dismally raw and bereft of form, the emergence of tulips, crocuses and hyacinths are balm to the anxiously-awaiting gardener.  They are succeeded by the bleeding hearts, the irrepressible and gigantic magnolia blooms, the vibrant rhododendrons and azaleas, and the sweet tiny presence of forget-me-nots, vying for room with the violets that pop up everywhere.

And then, up come the irises, and the gorgeous peonies, and they become the celebrities of the garden for as long as they are able to withstand the wind and the rain that burdens those fabulous flowerheads bowing under the added weight of water, which leaves them even more bewitching in appearance, those crystalline drops of rain-water decorating the multi-layered petals of the peony blooms.

The Jacks-in-the-Pulpit remain, their shy purple-striped heads hidden behind their spade-shaped leafage, the trilliums long gone, but their remains still to be seen over the vibrant green of their leaves, and the foamflowers send up their delicate white sprays, while lilies of the valley scatter their divine fragrance, in competition with the lilacs.

Poppies open their large, colour-perfect flower heads, and mountain bluet their feathery-blue flowers, while the allium floral heads turn their appealing light purple, swaying gracefully in spring-time breezes atop their green wands. Monarda, with its very special bergamot aroma filtering through the garden offers colour punches of pink and red, reflecting the flower-fall of climbing roses draped over walls and fences and arbours, alongside clematis vines with their perfect flowers challenging those of the nearby honeysuckle sprays.

The Japanese quince's bright orange flowers are turning to nascent fruit, the bridal-wreath spirea has spent itself in a white-veiled fountain of flowers, just as the hydrangeas are setting their floral buds and the princess spirea have released their lovely delicate pink sprays. The sprightly bright white and the mauve of Canterbury bells, the gentle pink of rose mallow, all conspire to delight the heart.

The garden is a pleasure-centre of the senses.