Many doors and windows open into – yes, into – the cultivated gardens of this room. Pathways of pebble stone and etched white marble intersect the labyrinthine pattern of bushes, trees, ponds, and trickling streams. Light from high above filters through the greenness to add a glow of calm to the place, in which visitors can easily become lost and usually do not mind.

The sun does not always shine. Often a grey haze blots out the distant glass, thunder rumbles, and the leaves of trees, bushes, and grasses breathe silently in anticipation of a storm. The multicolored flowers become muted, and the lamp posts light with orange gas-fed flames, and the umbrellas raise their arms to protect the sitting areas.

For within this vast room, nature is one with parlors, patios, decks, and gazebos. Arranged furniture, tables, desks, and low bookshelves rest with grass tickling their feet. Only beds are absent, for this is a place of contemplation, not of dreams.

Feel the rush of wind and water, read, sit, talk, write.