Gravity

I'm sitting in the shade of an enormous myrtle, in an old Italian garden, recently renovated.

It's so lush — tropical green, almost — and wet! Jets of water fill the air with a cooling mist. 

"Simple gravity," Graham says. "Dam a river, parch the local village. The Cardinals were vicious bastards. Plant choice is important."

Graham rattles on about box hedging. He is an expert on Italy, religion, hedging —everything, really.

Sweet, herbal perfume of myrtle transports me to a time when the garden was born and Cardinals were imperious, and Graham didn't know everything, because Graham didn't exist.