Somebody has scrubbed the world. And cleaned up our vision. All the shapes and forms are clearer. Fine edges and color tones emerge. Shade is full of light. Full sunshine can be a little blinding, but half-light, semi-shade is alive and at work on our senses.
The laurel is blooming. We ate our first strawberries, one each, this morning. Foxgloves have opened in the back garden for the first day. Purple irises are struggling to emerge from the grasp of the peony which has expanded startlingly into their breathing space. The first blue spiderwort flowers have crooked their elbows over the stone path, adding an upper story of color to that promenade. The lamium has shot up some dark pink rockets, lighting up the dark greens and the rusty red of the Japanese maple.
The air is cleaner after last night’s downpours and smells of nothing but air. The back garden feels like it’s drunk on water, or, to use the old cliché, high on life. It’s like, to fall back on another hoary but still useful expression, failing to see the forest for the trees. Don’t lose the garden for the plants. Don’t lose the morning for the hours, or the things you have to do, or the interruptions, or the thoughts in your head.
And don’t try to hold onto to the perfect moment by trying to find too many words for it.
Haiku: Now
May morning, after rain
Light beneath the shade of trees
Empty of desire
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