
A pocket of native green that hides the maison from the street: warm light through the palms, quiet corners, the city left at the gate.
The garden is why you cannot quite see Maison Felix from Harding Avenue, and why, once inside, you can no longer quite hear it. Native plants were let grow dense along the walls of the 1948 house rather than clipped into ornament, so the courtyard reads as a clearing: warm light falling through palm fronds, still water kept for its calm, chairs set where the shade is deepest. It is the room of the house without a ceiling, where mornings begin slowly and afternoons go pleasantly missing.
Through the gate off Harding Avenue, the garden is the way in, and the reason to linger.

