On a gray Saturday afternoon, sunlight diffuses through a canopy of a thick, cotton clouds. Shadows are faint and colors crackle against a drab canvas. Yellow leaves and red bricks accent the quiet, earthy expanse. Dumbarton Oaks in Georgetown is one of those things in your hometown that you've always meant to see, but never have. It was an opportune time for a first visit. Crisp and Autumnal. An imperceptible mist painting a subtle sheen over stone surfaces. Paths wind through gardens that evoke inexplicable nostalgia. A stately, stoic manor stands watch from its perch atop the highest point in Georgetown. Looming wordlessly as a detached caretaker. A small Tolkienesque vegetable garden sits below at the base of a slope bordered by a pair of huts that would not look out of place in the Shire. A large tree's expansive and exposed systems of roots emanate wildly from the center echoing the branches above. Scattered roses cling to life, braced against the coming cold.
The gardens are otherworldly and dreamlike. I imagine I'll come back often as seasons change to capture its different moods.
