That is what I call this bed, which I look out on when sitting in Dad's old rocking chair. It is tucked beneath the western boundary of the garden, on the north side of the house, so shady, with hazel up by the well, and flowering currant to add protection. As you step out of the sitting room, the Japanese lady welcomes you along the path.
You walk down, not knocking your head on the multitude of bird feeders that hang from the tree you pass: a good place for a cat to watch for a mouse. At the other end, a Japanese lantern is tucked beneath a rhododendron.
If you turned your back on them, and looked across the garden you would find windflower and primrose, trickling down the bank opposite