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In the moonlight garden

It’s midnight and there’s a full moon. Ghost gums raise smooth sepulchral arms to the sky. A warm soft breeze carries the pungent scent of exotic plants from the back garden -the white flowering fiddlewood from the West Indies and the mysterious hibiscus tree from Africa. Perth seems much closer to both places than to the rest of Australia.
I think of that long ago song by Joni Mitchell  that begins... 

“The Wind is in from Africa. 
Last night I couldn't sleep..."  

At least they can be imagined from here. More so than from Tasmania. I've been reading about the last of the Mughals and about the Silk Road. The last Mughal emperor had a moonlight garden until  Dehli was destroyed in the Indian Mutiny of 1857.  Magical names leap from the pages  - Kashmir and  Kashgar, Tashkent and Samarkand, or perhaps Havana and Port Royal from the last book I read.
A friend writes that she is on her way to Uzbekistan.
Dream on. There are bills to pay...things which must be done, but dreams are better than nothing, better than emptiness and I have found that song.