For a brief moment, our garden became the Forest of Arden (though without “the oak, whose boughs were mossed with age”), while Katie and Schuyler strolled its paths. In another time and age, they could have been characters stepping out of one of Shakespeare’s romantic comedies.

Prom season is here, that gala fifth season tucked between spring and summer that celebrates youth and promise. Juniors anticipate a perfect evening to cap their next-to-last year of high school. Seniors anticipate a last fling before that first summer of the rest of their lives.

Tradition decrees that you wear your best, a special corsage, a boutonniere, a wispy wreath, always fresh flowers that seem never to fade. The high school gym is dressed to the nines and bouncing to the music of your generation. And, of course, there is the memorable after-party with friends.

The rainy spring had produced lush bloom on azaleas, clematis, fringe trees, viburnum and iris, and the woods were deep and green. So, despite its flaws, the garden was appealing, particularly in the evening, when the sun cast gold across the bowers. Still, we’d never thought about our garden — always a work in progress, with wheelbarrows of weeds and carts of cut limbs, and patient lines of plants in limbo — as a setting for prom-goers. Yet neighbor, friend and photographer Pam, who is a gardener herself and has a creative eye, managed to conjure magic from the moment.

I’ll say no more. Let the photos tell the story.

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