Before there was a lower garden, a secret garden, there was a grassy glen only accessible by a narrow slope. A slope so severe that you had to walk down it with a sideways step. Taking a riding lawnmower down was harrowing experience and bringing it back up was always a challenge. It was inevitable.
The standing stone did not always stand upright. When we moved to the house it laid partially buried aside the slop.
One afternoon while riding the mower up the slope it began slipping backwards and ended up aside the stone while my husband ended up upon the stone. We were told that had his back hit the stone in slightly different position, he would have been paralyzed.
As the gardens evolved and the slope tamed, the standing stone was an inevitable addition. What was once a reminder of an averted catastrophe is now the guard of a mystical world.