I was wondering why I seem to find so little to post about recently. After all, there’s no less news than there used to be. If anything, there’s probably more than ever. Perhaps that’s the problem: there is just too much information around for me to process it effectively and I think I feel less informed than ever.
The tagline on this blog describes it as “(mostly) first person poetry, prose & opinion” but in reality the main topic seems to be a repeated complaint that I don’t know what to write about. I think the secondary topic is probably another complaint – that I’m too busy to write very much.
Among the plants that evoke the summers of my childhood are buttercups, buddleia and the rosebay willow herb. I’ve posted quite a lot about the willow herb in the last couple of years, probably because I don’t remember it in Spain and now I’m back in the UK, after over two decades without it, it seems to be everywhere. Continue reading “the origin of clouds”
Two months ago, the rolling green of Middle England was covered in purple and I wrote on the blog that the rosebay willow herb is one of my favourite summer flowers. Today, the countryside is every bit as green, but the bright aspirational flower spikes have long gone and the feathery thought-like seeds have been carried away on the wind.
For no particular reason, the rosebay willow herb is one of my favourite summer flowers. The name is one I remember learning as a child, along with so many other pink and purple blooms: meadow crane’s-bill, mallow, cosmos, buddleia…
I haven’t spent much time in the UK over the last 20 years and I am struck now by the willow herb spires lining the river banks and towering above the long grasses in the fields and meadows.
There seems to be something very aspirational – and inspirational – about how they point to the blue sky: I get the impression they are telling me there is no limit to the possibilities.
A closer look reveals a host of insects busy among the flowers: a reminder that without hard work ambition may count for nothing.