Success and failure, triumph and disaster. That is the rhythm of life in the garden.

It has been said that the only reason for leaving England is to give yourself the pleasure of coming back to it.

This is the divine moment when we can hold the fairest blossom of spring in one hand and the sweetest flowers of early summer in the other.

In looking back we remember only the triumphant consummations of each season. Failures and frustrations are forgotten; garden-memories are as perfect as garden-hopes.

Every noble achievement is a dream before it is a reality just as the oak is an acorn before it is a tree.

Forget the times of trouble, but not the truths they taught. Forget the days of sorrow, but not the strength they brought. Forget the storms you battled through beneath a heavy load - but not the light that led you safely down the unknown road.

September is the month of maturity; the heaped basket and the garnered sheaf. It is the month of climax and completion. September! I never tire of turning it over and over in my mind. It has warmth, depth and colour. It glows like old amber.