On my overnight flight to Paris, I watched Francis Ford Coppola’s cinematic remake of one of my favorite childhood books, The Secret Garden. Reminded of the purity of children’s love as the characters tended to an enchanted garden while healing their own delicate traumas, I lay down on my pile of small pillows as the movie lulled me into a haze of patchy sleep – the kind that leaves you wondering if you’ve slept twenty minutes or three hours.

In the same way that I was transported to a childhood memory of being engrossed in this classic tale, I entered a dreamlike state when I stepped into Monet’s garden – a wondrous world of flowers and trees that welcomed me into its lush embrace. Giant patches of petaled beauties greeted me with a rainbow array that made my soul dance with delight. I breathed in the cool, spring air fresh with the morning’s rain. Aaahh – a dream come true!

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