Sunday, June 9, 2013

flowers, ritual

I confess to having been a little disappointed, and more than a little concerned yesterday when I didn't come back to my parents' house and find the customary little vase of flowers from the garden on the window ledge in front of where I sit and type.  I mean - how hard could it be to put this together, given that the garden itself is extraordinarily full of roses, and highly scented jasmine, and lavender, and lupins, and nigella, and poppies, and - nearly - peonies, and generally looks like early English summer at its total best (apart, alas, from the chilly and grey weather)?  

But I misjudged; my anxiety was misplaced.  I woke up in the middle of the night (by which time, of course, it was already getting light in England), and saw that the vase was - unprecedentedly - on the window sill above my bed.  Apparently it was too hot and sunny (hard to believe now) yesterday morning for them to be sitting there without wilting.  

So - concern banished; ritual of photographing the ritual performed ...

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