we call these flowers fairy whips
rock and flower, Queenstown (reminds me of my father-in-law)
tigers on the prowl
African marigolds - a country-wildflower-garden, favourite. We're saving the seeds to plant later in the year
two little lost irises
most street verges are manicured, mown grass - not this one! What a lovely idea to plant wildflowers
roses deep in the purple
a tree not going anywhere
a restless background
baby sparrow waits for Dad ...
... and here he is ...
a kindly neighbourly act - beans in a basket for the taking
testing the convection oven's capabilities, hoping it doesn't let down my baking prowess (such as it is)
a hope and a prayer
A bit of a flowery post today. Purple prose?
Flowers are great reminders of how beautiful this planet can be. They do not ask us for anything. They are simply there. They just grow and be.
I have now finished the first draft of my novel and cannot believe how hard it is to just leave it be. (Like a quote I saw on Facebook today - 'Everything I have let go, has my claw marks all over it').
I am resisting the temptation to pick it up and tamper. I need to put space between it and me so that I can come back to it with a fresh perspective.
In the meantime ...
During my writing break I can at last start reading my pile of books-to-read. (While writing, I don't read much at all). Most of them are poetry books. Although, I did start a Katherine Mansfield biography today, then promptly fell asleep. (Which is not a reflection on the book so much as an age-related thing).
Not surprisingly, I am a fan of the more southerly (local) poets.
Look out for this little gem! (Happy and proud to report that a piece of my writing is in it).
It is the end of the day and it is raining; the birds are disconsolate - I can hear their dismayed chirping (a cold snap has caught our previously balmy autumnal spell by surprise). I can also hear a dog crying somewhere in the hood. There is no sound more mournful.