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Wszystkie fragmenty pochodzą z książki Francess Hodgson Burnett "The secret garden", czyli po naszemu' "Tajemniczy ogród". Prawem cytatu można zamieszczać na blogu fragmenty większych utworów dla celów edukacyjnych lub by zilustrować coś, ale cytaty (czy to książkowe, czy np. fotografie) nie mogą stanowić clou wpisu/pracy. Zakładam, że na bieda-blogu główną atrakcję stanowią zdjęcia, boć przecież nie moje (za)piski :) i w takiej interpretacji wpis się jeszcze obroni. Albo pójdę z torbami, nie wypłaciwszy się z kar za plagiat.
"Tajemniczy ogród"
Nie była to może najukochańsza książka mojego dzieciństwa (zdecydowanie wolałam Muminki), ale niezaprzeczenie miała swój urok. Na tyle wielki, że kiedy wprowadziliśmy się do nowego domu, byłam szczerze rozczarowana, że krzaki dookoła niego są  mało wyrośnięte, i trudno bawić się w "Tajemniczy ogród" bez bycia zagadywaną przez sąsiadów.
O czym to ja...a!
  Wypełzłam w piątek na powierzchnię korzystając z pięknej pogody, i roztropnie chwyciłam ze sobą lalkę. Dookoła niby styczeń, ale ptaki drą się zdecydowanie wiosennie, latają muchy i inne robaki- no, pogoda może nasunąć na myśl powieść pani Burnett. W roli kapryśnej Mary Lenox- Jolina.

Secret Garden wasn't my fav child-book, but it still influenced me heavily. At this time of year there should be snow and ice everywhere, but (luckily) we have a quick come-back of Spring- birds are chirping, grass is still green, and I really saw a flies this friday! So, I grabbed a doll and tried to recreated the most memorable scene from Ms. Burnett's book- the one in which Mary Lenox enters the Secret garden.
Starring Jolina as Mary :)

*** 

 

She put her hands under the leaves and began to pull and push them aside. Thick as the ivy hung, it nearly all was a loose and swinging curtain, though some had crept over wood and iron. She held back the swinging curtain of ivy and pushed back the door which opened slowly—slowly.

Then she slipped through it, and shut it behind her, and stood with her back against it, looking about her and breathing quite fast with excitement, and wonder, and delight.
She was standing inside the secret garden.

It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one could imagine. The high walls which shut it in were covered with the leafless stems of climbing roses which were so thick that they were matted together.

She moved away from the door, stepping as softly as if she were afraid of awakening some one. She was glad that there was grass under her feet and that her steps made no sounds.

It was this hazy tangle from tree to tree which made it all look so mysterious. Mary had thought it must be different from other gardens which had not been left all by themselves so long; and indeed it was different from any other place she had ever seen in her life.

The sun was shining inside the four walls and the high arch of blue sky over this particular piece of Misselthwaite seemed even more brilliant and soft than it was over the moor.

She walked under one of the fairy-like gray arches between the trees and looked up at the sprays and tendrils which formed them. "I wonder if they are all quite dead," she said. "Is it all a quite dead garden? I wish it wasn't."

Mistress Mary worked in her garden until it was time to go to her midday dinner.

“I shall come back this afternoon,” she said, looking all round at her new kingdom, and speaking to the trees and the rose-bushes as if they heard her.

In-Joy