struggle in the heat,
yet their hearts remain
for bees and butterflies.
My mum has just brought me a peony blossom on a long stem. I inhale its heady perfume until I’m quite dizzy.
A bowl of wild strawberries on the wooden table on the terrace. I pop a couple at a time in my mouth and crush them with my tongue. What joy when their sweet-sour juice fills my mouth. Their mysterious forest fragrance just adds to the experience of this simple pleasure.
It’s a happy sight to see my flowers already peeking from the ground. Although they are tiny I admire them for their determination and zest to grow towards the sun. I bought the seeds a couple of weeks ago at Sarah Raven, but my mum sowed them only ten days ago. They will bloom late into autumn in the gentle palette of “strawberries and cream”.
Cornflower blue sky, sun the colour of crushed marigolds. Lazy midday silence. Words about of a man who was frighteningly talented. Without a single word of complaint he bore hunger, cold, extreme poverty, loneliness and illness. All these hardships didn’t deter him from creating one masterpiece after another with almost feverish haste. Whenever my exhaustion is at its worst I call him to mind and as if by a miracle I muster the strength to live the way he painted.
Happy new week!