Purple Trees

by Bob Temple

The question of which bushes were to be used in the constructin of the maze was submitted to the downstairs staff on Friday. The maze was to be a copy of the maze at Hampton Court which Uncle Jules had gotten so angry at one summer. He had not been able to get out of it at all. When he thrashed through the bushes in desperation, like a hot-headed Minotaur, he had lacerated himself badly.

Now the same design was to be copied in his own grounds. When his nephew told him later that the trick was simple; keep one hand on the left wall all the time and you have to get out.
Uncle Jules was not pleased.

His maze was to have one variation: there would be NO way out. Ages from now he prophesied, hords of hapless tourists would be wandering in its passages.

So it was, now, five centuries later. The decomposing bodies of the lost vacationers had seeped into the soil. The purple-leafed sand cherries as well as the once golden-leafed ninebarks were both the same strong purple. The rich color brought even more admiring tourists each year, confident in the treasured, but erroneous secret: keep one hand on the left wall.

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