Whether glancing at the gardens through a window of our house; from an upstairs window looking down, or through a first-floor window looking across, or through the front door when passing in the foyer, my eye is invariably caught by the cluster of colours, shapes; the bright, alive, welcoming vision of a garden in a state of comfort with itself.

This year, everything appears to have thriven under the life-sustaining influence of rain and sun, falling on the landscape in proportions geared by nature to incite her growing things to full throttle. Cutting back unruly plants and shrubs has become routine; staking up fallen flower stalks is also routine; just the simple act of wandering about taking note of the progress of newly planted perennials represents an incomparable pleasure.

Yesterday my husband enamel-painted the wrought-iron loveseat that we placed 23 years ago on the porch of our house. That love seat had its place formerly on another house we owned for 20 years and before that, a house we had while living in Toronto.

Butterflies and bees are there on occasion to demonstrate just how much they share in the pleasure of being around and about green foliage and bold-petalled blossoms. Birds serenade their pleasure from morning to dusk fall.

Blooms come and go. Now it's the turn of day lilies and the occasional Asiatic lily, bergamot and Shasta daisies, coral bells and tickseed, astilbe and the remaining roses yet in bloom.

Viewing the garden from the interior of the house during a thunderstorm brings a vision of intensified colour as the rain coats foliage and blossoms, brightening shades of purple, red, pink, white and gold, orange and green. At those times pleasure is transported toward a realm beyond.