The glorious weather has now meant that the garden is full of flowers, many of which have a sweet scent. A seventy foot rose hedge is now in full flower, the bees are buzzing and fruit is ripening and yet today is one of the saddest for some time.
A friends daughter rang with the news of her mothers terminal cancer. An old friend sent a letter telling of her daughters serious accident. There was a funeral to arrange, people to console, flowers to send.
And yet the beauty outside endures.
The best I can offer today, having deleted the first effort is the poem by Hopkins which says everything I want to say....but better.
Glory be to God for dappled things...
For skies of couple colour as a brinded cow.
For rosé moles all in stipple upon trout that swim
Fresh fire coal chestnut falls, finches wings
Landscape looted and pieced, fold, fallow and plow
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim
All things counter, spare, strange
Whatever is fickle, freckled ( who knows how?)
With swift, slow, sweet, sour, a dazzle, dim
He fathers forth whose beauty is past change.