This morning when i went out to hang the washing i noticed the first of the berries that had be- gun to ripen. No wonder the birds have been a a little louder and busier this week. It had rained at night so the temperature had come down. The freshness that only the rain can bring somehow seemed suspended in space and time. I quickly finished my chore and clicked at the berry tree. But when i was at it, i saw a creeper, again with the first blooms of the year! I'm so glad i created my place in blogo- sphere. Otherwise i wouldn't have written about the things i do or photographed every little bloom/fruit/foliage that caught my eye! Every plant, no matter big or small must be acknow- ledged. After all, they make our plots and our neighbourhood, a better place to live in. Later, on the way to my children's school, I saw gossamer mist float on the tops of the range of low hills. In June. The sky was still cloudy, heavy with the promise of more rain. On my way back, i bought some litchis, another fruit of the season. The vendor swore they were the sweetest ones this side of the Brahmaputra! All these years i'd never written about these little things which made the heat bearable. Now i know and i shall write, that in June------ You can still wake up to misty morns. The hills are ablaze with yellows and reds. No matter how hot it gets, the drizzle will take care of your thirsty plants. That the creeper trailing along the wall will be draped in colour. In one corner, fragrant flowers will bloom and as you walk through the gate,the aroma will gently waft into your being. Birds, bees and butterflies will fly and set your heart a-flutter and you'll be glad to be alive and well. Oh, the blessings of June!
Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manley Hopkins
The first flowering shrub I planted on our land
Every flower is a soul blooming in Nature.-Gerard De Nerval
Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? -Henry David Thoreau