Work Text:
Sat serenely in the typical British garden, Arthur Kirkland inhaled the assorted sweet and spicy aromas. The garden had been specially designed for sensory experience and, even with his eyes gently closed; he could clearly pick out the individual fragrance of the herbs that bordered the garden.
Lemon balm...
Oregano...
Lavender...
Rosemary...
That particular one was his favourite and, from his current position, the strongest essence. A blissful smile played across his lips.
Arthur focused the full spectrum of his senses on the garden’s enchanting aura. Eyes still peacefully and contently shut, he could pick out the rhythmic sloshing of the central fountain and the cheerful chirping of carefree birds as they glided through the hanging plants. With every breath he was welcomed with the inviting perfumes of the Earth, allowing his memory to wander onto images of happiness and everything that symbolised the country he loved so much. His fingers precisely explored the worn, well-loved grooves of the arm of an old bench whilst being occasionally tickled by the swaying of a playful, neighbouring plant caught in the breeze. A welcome, pleasant breeze that was surprisingly warm (this was the British summer after all).
Separate, these feelings were wonderful. Combined they were heavenly.
At times like these, most of all, he felt truly an embodiment of his country and most at peace. At times like these, Arthur was at one with England.