iRelle

I took advantage of the coolness after the shower of rain this evening to get out into the garden with my camera. My darling niece Alice came along too, and obligingly posed for me. One thing I’ve learned… she’s a lot more photogenic when she’s not posing! I absolutely adore the freckles that have scattered themselves across her nose.

I had a conversation last week about things that grow… I don’t seem to have that innate desire to grow things that so many people I know have. I can’t get very excited about tiny new shoots in the garden in spring, or new buds on a rare flower, or even about picking my own carrots. I do relish pulling weeds out of a nice soft garden bed, but I think that feeling is more akin to the satisfaction that comes from squeezing a pimple. The ‘growing things’ gene seems to have skipped my genome.

The thing is, I love things that havegrown. I love collecting tiny wildflowers along the side of the road, or seeing the weird, otherworldly shapes of fungi on a tree in the bush. I love certain hothouse flowers delivered to my door (hint?), and I love having a vase of blossom or a spread of autumn leaves propped up on a shelf. I’m not sure what that says about my inner gardener, but at least my inner nature appreciation society is well established!

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