Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I went to a hardware store yesterday and on impulse I suggested we walk to a rose garden very near.  It was built in the 1930s and is a kind of secret garden, not now known to many who don't live nearby.  It is at the end of a small residential street, and columns greet you.  Inside is a bowl with redwoods and woodlands and stairs that lead to higher residential streets all around.  There are paths with rose bushes and many benches and a waterfall with a pond at the top.  It's the kind of place you expect Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron to be swaying to an orchestra.  I used to take my foster granddaughter frequently.  She loved the roses, the paths, the gardeners who would talk to us.  She brought her stuffed puppy, and was thrilled if adults pretended it was real and asked her its name.  The perfume of some of the roses is sublime, and the colors!  I saw one bush with mocha colored roses, and many white roses, my favorite color.  And the blooms were huge; almost dinner plate sized.  My husband loved it and I realized I should take my two year old grandson.  He would happily run up and down the paths.  And he'd love a visit to the hardware store too.