The arboretum was his gift to her, a sanctuary from the life-crushing city beneath.
“You deserve Utopia,” knowing full well she had not read, in fact would never read, the book for which such impossible places are named.
So it was not surprising she took it for granted, as she had the fox cubs, the Daimler, the summers in Switzerland.
She would say “the arboretum” as though it were a bedroom or hallway, a common thing found in even the most modest home.
Only when long illness confined her to the indoors did she come to fully appreciate his gift.