It was early evening when I crossed the yard and entered another world — our neighbors’ garden. They are away and we’re watering their plants. I found the buckets behind the hedge, ladled water onto petunias and impatiens. I marveled at the tidiness, the white pebbles and gnomes, an orderliness I admire from afar but seldom see close at hand.

And then I walked around back. Years of bamboo and white pine stand between our yards. It is mutual, this screen. It is for privacy, of course, and is highly effective. It has kept their garden a secret, the careful plantings of hostas, azaleas and begonia. The sign “Our Garden” and the white latched gate. The charm and innocence of their suburban idyll. I stood for a moment and felt the peace of the place. Then I watered the plants and went home.