Sunday, May 19, 2013

The bluebell wood


We were enveloped in low cloud, today. Persistent, gentle moisture. Because of it, the BBG decided to cancel the foraging walk I was to have led in the afternoon, and, despite having looked forward to it, it was a bit of a relief. I hadn't had much sleep, and the prospect of a free afternoon was quite attractive. 

I was at leisure, after my morning class,  to stroll back to the subway in the May weather, carrying my bags, and my post-class relief, like a tired albatross around my neck. Not quite, but sort of. 

I met some really nice people, everyone seemed to enjoy the food, and there will be other walks, on other days. 

Now, I just need to not think so much, for a while. I can't wait to see home, my parents, Selina, Cape Town, the corgis (but no Ben - I miss him), the mountain outside our bedroom window, to being on the road, again, to having supper in the kitchen. To winter. I haven't seen a Cape winter since 1994, when I left. 


Back to Brooklyn , and the heart breaking blue. The garden was deserted. A pity - for the garden, not me- as the light is good on grey days and the mist so fine that everything sparkled. The bluebells are in their glory. I write about them, in my book, in May (Chapter Five!). I write about everything that has mattered to me, in this city. I needed to do that. To say thank you.

The bluebells will still be there on Tuesday (the garden is closed on Mondays), but not perfect for much longer. Go, soon.


I wonder what it would be like to lie in the middle of them?

And yes, they smell about as good as they look.
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