Impeccably aligned trees bordered lush green lawn that was forbidden to walk upon, neatly trimmed bushes outlined explosions of multi-colored flowers that appeared so perfectly mixed it became clear that they were planted in a pattern and, given their flower-shop ready appearance, were likely recently installed. A grove of citrus trees, some said to be a hundred and more years old, was maintained in the same giant but moveable wood and metal planters used at Versailles to keep winter-sensitive plants alive from one year to the next. The garden bustled with men playing Bocce, their business jackets neatly hung on a rack in the center of the courts. Mothers clicked high heels down the sidewalks looking like they’d dressed for the runway rather than a stroll with baby in carriage. Father and son sailed model boats across the central water feature. And college students grouped the provided green metal chairs into clusters at grass edge, huddled together to study, gossip, or simply enjoy a cigarette. What the garden didn’t bustle with was wildlife. I heard rustling in the bushes, but it inevitably was a Wood-Pigeon, a Rock Dove, or a House Sparrow; all natives here and relatively common urban birds, just as easily seen on the flawlessly manicured and untouchable lawn as in the shrubbery.