We inhaled the scent of herbs on the soft balmy air. Occasional yelps of joy bounced across the lake as youngsters leapt into the water from the dodgy bough that leans out over the deeper water. The Irish feel such deep relaxation in our bodies when the temperatures soar. So we are elated by this evening, warm enough to sit . . .
When the streets of Vienna are getting too hot to bear, I duck into a side street flower shop. It's the bunches of "weeds" in the window that first catch my eye; familiar wildflowers as carrot and catmint, laurel leaves and common grasses, in bouquets and tall vases. As I stick my head in the door I ask "do you . . .
Bumble bee Gorse Violet Blackthorn blossom Ladybird Herb Robert Primrose It's three years now since I started this blog. One of my earliest posts was a photograph of creamy Blackthorn blossoms on the ditch. Today just a short walk up the lane reveals again the quiet . . .
As November takes hold, maybe winter begins? The community on the hill and here on the lane are winding down, burrowing in behind closed doors. Close to the window there are white roses budding and flowering, in their own rhythm. Sure they don't seem to know if it's day or night! And in the workshop there are sounds of tapping and . . .
In her garden it's the sweet perfume that I remember. Her little bed of roses. She broke her back in a car accident in the 1930's and was bent over and frail. We used to laugh saying she was so wrinkled that her wrinkles had wrinkles. She was strict and made us eat things we didn't like, but . . .
"You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves" from the Wild Geese by Mary Oliver With thanks to Grace . . .
The morning begins with 6 ducks swimming right to left in the lake at the end of the field. Then shortly afterwards 8 ducks swim back in the other direction. I am on pause. At 5 in the morning, after weeks of travelling and seeking I am slumped in a chair in front of the familiar . . .
While meditating on dewy daffodils and the pinkest fritillaries underfoot, I see her swooping in. Even with a dozen or so humans chatting beneath her nest, she carries on incessantly. Over and back, a short stop on the fence post and one final dive under a window ledge. Carrying more than she can easily manage (enthusiasm and necessity) she keeps . . .
I know the neighbours despair of my nettle border and my overwhelming gorse mountain but I can't resist including them all in my mixed up wild, cultivated garden. There are so many parts of the country where the verges and the hedgerows are devoid of life. Grass grows, but the diversity that is natural to . . .