Thursday, 11 October 2012
I like to think of Chrysanthemums as being nature's consolation to the heart that begins to grieve the departing of the golden days of summer . . .
Other blooms are fading . . . the roses are looking decidedly weary as fading blooms are replaced with bare hips . . . the dahlias droop . . . the hydrangea are wilting, their pretty pinks and blues turning slightly grey and brown . . . and leaves are drying, blowing away . . . all around is desolation, ruin and decay . . . but in the flower bed, the Chrysanthemum still bob their pretty heads and dance their little dance . . .
Their vivid blooms set garden paths ablaze with color and I bring in a few to light the chilly rooms of my home with their bold array of light . . . brilliant, rich and bright . . . in amber, lemon, copper and bronze . . . gold, maroon and white.
Life without color . . . how very drab it would be. The Master paints the earth, skies and seas with shadow and light . . . and color . . . tones rich and bright . . . pleasing to the eye and bringing a special song to the heart, and a little bounce to your step.
I suppose I see the world with an artists eye. Each season brings it's own special beauty and joys, but I do like the Autumn best of all I think. But then again . . . were you to ask me in Spring or Winter, or Summer . . . I would label them my favorites too.
When we lived down South on the Estate, we were surrounded with color and bloom every day of the year. The gardens were so very beautiful no matter the season . . .
or day of the year. I was always snapping photos . . . there was seemingly no end to the beauty . . .
I did not know the names of all of the flowers . . . but then again, I did not really need to know the names. I only knew that I found them to be beautiful . . . sometimes in weird and wonderful ways.
Flowers and greenery seemed to spring from every crack . . . every nook and every cranny . . .
and cover every wall . . . but then again . . . that is England, and a part of why I love it so . . .
Even here in the suburbs, I have a tiny sprig of lavender which keeps sprouting from the wall beneath my front room window . . . on the paved drive, no matter the time of year. It never fails to cheer me when I see it bloom, and never as much as it does in January, when this is the last thing you would expect to find or see . . . it fills the heart.
"I see the winter approaching without much concern, though a passionate lover of fine weather and the pleasant scenes of summer. But the long evenings have their comforts too; and there is hardly to be found upon the earth, I suppose, so snug a creature as an Englishman by his fireside, in the winter. I mean, however, an Englishman that lives in the country."
~Wm. Cowper, Oct 7th, 1783
I feel like I am getting a cold . . . in the shops yesterday I was taken over by a fit of sneezing. Thankfully I had a tissue in my coat pocket. It's that time of year I guess . . . not yet cold enough to kill off all the germs, but plenty of germs flying about! I have a bit of a sore throat, and some sniffles . . . but it hasn't taken over just yet, and I hope that it doesn't. I'll just have to deal with whatever comes I suppose! Hopefully it won't be the same un-relenting chest infection and cough that has plagued me the past several years in the Autumn on into the Winter. I find that quite tiresome and strength sapping.
I must be off and about my day now. It's a quarter to 8 in the morning and the skies are finally lightening, although it is quite overcast and does look like rain. That, too . . . is England. I will never forget my first year here when it rained every single day. That is when I learned that people don't melt in the rain and that if you waited for a dry day, nothing would ever get done! Oh . . . and that the weather always gave people something to talk about, even strangers. ☺
Happy Day all!!
In The English Kitchen today, bits and bobs . . . and Cinnamon Pie Crust Cookies!