spring

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Happy Birthday

Author H.G. Wells was born September 21 in 1866
When I think of H.G. Wells I always picture Orson Wells. I’m not sure if that’s due to the same last names, or if the actor played the part of the author in some long-forgotten film that lingers in the recesses of the mind. Or maybe even a character in a film that originated with H.G. Wells. Who knows. Maybe even word association. As I recall someone’s name at the swimming pool: Spring, for Spring Byington. This is pretty funny as the swimming pool Spring is Chinese, hardly a stand-in for the movie star. But whatever works, I say.
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Spring = Flowers

Flowers and pots and dirt, Oh My! And it’s off to the plant place we go. And about time, I say. So now with the new photo flash drive I’ll be able to easily and quickly move and backup photos on my Android. At least we’ll give it a bloody go, yes?

But of course this brings memories along with it. Memories with flowers and places and people. As indeed the trail of flower roots through out the years.

From Manitou—a touch, just a plant sampling from the upper courtyard:

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Manitou Courtyard

My return should bring a flowering of blooms—which shall be published, assuming the new browser and flash drive and computer all cooperate!

 

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Spring

Tao&

Tao & Zen

Signs of Spring, yes?

In the photo below, of the Lily of the Valley, I am flown back to childhood. At the First House Mum had lilies of the valley planted along one side. It seemed a large patch then, in the way of childhood. I’d pick them and bring them in the house to my mum. And I’d always find her in the kitchen where she would be making something. I’d take my time getting the delicate flowers into the house, walking the long way around to the back door. I wanted to smell the scent of the flowers, so fragile and sweet, as long as I could. They never smelled quite so lovely once they went into a vase.

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Artistic Nature

Old Moss Woman’s Secret Garden

springrilke

Barn Owl photo by Benjamin Joseph Andrew—A Room With A View

“Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke; (1875–1896) Bohemian-Austrian poet

 

It’s a surprise and it’s so very pleasing. Rilke does that by changing from the expected (a child who begins to grow) to the art that is represented— the poem.