I still remember the very words: ÃÂÃÂIÃÂÃÂm sorry, but your house is no longer yours.ÃÂÃÂThey say that every house has a story to tell. Mine is one of a 26 square house, which to me was a priceless piece of real-estate.
In spite of the many years that have passed since we moved from there, I still remember the precise details of its physical structure. Having had my parents dictate layer upon layer of brick, as well as the various modifications they made on the original house plan, it makes it hard for it to leave my memory.
The house naturally seemed to cater for each member of the household, from its choice of colour, to its overall structural design.
It is said that a garden is as simple or as complex as the individual it defines or in my case the family it defines.
The gardens were my mumÃÂÃÂs paradise; she would spend hours there, planting plants and trees, hoping to one day see them reach their optimum growth.
It was like her heaven on earth. Rarely will you find a landscape so sensitive to your needs and so attuned to your desires.
There was something about our garden, quite unlike any other. Its display was not only enhanced by the colours of the flowers, but foliage form and textures.
Although the garden barely even made an acre in size, to us, it was one of the most peaceful places in the world. It made you feel as though you were at one with God. ItÃÂÃÂs layout created a thoroughly relaxing atmosphere, combined with the color selection of the flora which generated a very calm mood.
The depth of colour, the interplays of shadow and light. It looked much like a portrait to me at such a young age.