We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.
~ Anaïs Nin
It rained overnight. Soaking rain. This morning the garden is showing its gratitude by unfurling leaves, stems reaching upright, flower buds suddenly tumescent with the promise of life. The early morning sunlight is sparkling through the treetops and the grass is glistening. Everything seems revitalised and perky. I walked around the garden earlier, feeling the coolness of the day brushing my face, the air calm. A state of quietude. Even the birdsong is muted. It smells fresh, cleansed of the dust stirred about by the ever-present winds of the past few days.
It’s been a scattered month. Like the dust that’s been swirling around, I feel stirred up and unsettled. I can’t believe that August has arrived already. We’ve been home from Italy for six weeks and the memories of that adventure have taken on sepia tones — the alchemy of the tastes, sounds, smells and sights which were so exhilarating, beginning to fade.Continue Reading