“He was feeling the enervating effects of a few days of merely sitting or standing—and eating far too much of Mrs. Fisk’s fine baking. After breakfast he went outside into the back garden, using only his cane for guidance. He knew the garden and was unlikely either to get lost or to come to great grief. He smelled the absence of the vegetable garden immediately. Not that he had been very aware of the smells when he was a boy, but he noticed them now when they were not there, especially the m...int and sage and other herbs. There were no flowers either. At Middlebury he had been trying to differentiate among the smells of different flowers and the texture and shape of their petals and leaves and stems. The garden had not been completely neglected, though. The gardeners he paid to come in twice a month had swept the path that ran between the former flower beds. The stone bench that encircled the copper urn in which his mother had used to set a great pot of flowers each year was free of rubble.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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