One of the most beautiful gardens in Britain is at Highgrove. In a tucked-away portion of the garden stands a wall created of what appears to be broken pieces of stone carvings and architectural masonry. Some pieces are stone masonry samples; others broken or damaged works by student artisans. The assembly of disparate pieces of English limestone could grace a museum in any part of the world. As if pieces of cathedrals and halls of learning had leaped together, the wall is an act of grace, moss blending both edge and color. It is called The Wall of Gifts.

Between cornices, stone leaves, and rampant lions, rows of limestone in lapidary form bring the larger remnants home. The Wall of Gifts is not accidental art but the bringing together of hundreds of creative moments into a new expression. No one creative moment gets lost in the new. It is stone and fluidity, math and music. Beside and around the wall, shrubs grow and leaves fall.

You are mine. Not my possession; my beloved.

You are mine. I delight in you. I will restore you. I will not let you go. I will write your name upon my hand. You are mine. What I have begun in you, I will complete. I will be with you in times of trouble. You are mine. I am the Good Shepherd. I have called you by name. You will be like a stream whose waters never fail. You are mine. I will never leave you or forsake you. I am the bush which burns without consuming. Let us reason together. Taste me and see that I am good. You are mine.

Beloved, I am yours.