Chapter Eight
David tested the fence post he’d just concreted in. It didn’t move. Tomorrow he would construct the palings and stain them a muted charcoal before the end of the day. As a background this would bring out the luscious hues of greens of the plants he’d ordered.
He stood for a moment, hands on hips and surveyed the area, pleased with what he saw. Paths had been cut into the dirt, the area was marked with the pattern he’d had in his head the moment he saw the ground. He’d ordered various large trees to add height here and there and the rest would be plotted with natives that would flower all throughout the year in synchronised patterns, highlighting different parts of the garden throughout the year.
Next he’d work on the paving, and lastly the centrepiece—whatever that may be.
