you are the garden in which i could never sit. And just loving the way it smelled and felt was never appropriate-- i had to stay, i had to guard the gates and talk to your plants and visit you occasionally in your pristine pond, climb into that cold water and let you hold me like a buoy. And sure, yeah, part of me is shivering, cold and old and i would tell you all about it except that you always lacked fire and i need to dry off.