Don’t you ever get the urge to throw yourself into buckets of paint colours? To stand in the middle of a gallery and just let yourself get taken over? Or better still, to lie in a meadow of spring flowers and just let the yellows, reds, oranges wash over you?
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Summer seems such a distance away... and a cold snap about to hit us this weekend. I think I should hang your summer meadow on every wall in my house.
Thanks
D
Isn't it beautiful - I had it as my screen saver for a while. It was taken at West Dean gardens near chichester last year.
She would always remember the scattering of wild meadow flowers over her mother's Monday apron. Once, she had thought they were real. Now, the floral peg bag swung empty on the line but the sticky-back plastic lining the shelves of the larder still felt floury. She scattered the ashes.
Have only just realised that this is a fifty word flash thingy too. So.. late to this game, I am pasting one below.
Claire wanted to make love in a cornfield meadow, all the summer flowers leaning over her, leaning over him. Musk mallow, buttercup, red and white campion, and daisy, and poppy, and corn marigolds.
She hadn’t bargained on the flies that bite, or the wasps, or the shit on her shoe.
Everyday she watches him walking through her life story, scattered among the green of the meadow. Memory the root of each bloom. The white of her mothers precious net curtains. The black and red of their first nights together. The little yellow bath ducks that bobbed around the unnamed baby.
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