I am glad summer is here, I said to a friend earlier today. The sun was shining through the window after a dull, rainy spell of weather. It started to get dull throughout the day, but the sentiment with which I started my day – the joy of summer’s presence – was rooted in my mind. After dinner, I found myself going from tab to tab on the computer and a beam of sun came out once again. This time, I felt an urge to go outside. For however long or short the sun lasted, I wanted to be out there.
Part of me, too, was unbothered by the prospects of rain. I knew I could go for a short walk and that if it rained, it rained. Perhaps rain is good for the soul, sometimes. As a reminder that Nature’s beauties happen not in sun, but in the balance of all of the seasons and weathers. The beam of sun gave me hope. With that hope, I set out on my walk.
On my walk, with the sound of water flowing in the background, ascending a small slope and admiring the flora and fauna around, I took a breath and I recognised a scent. It was childhood. I started to think about the garden in my childhood house. I enjoyed playing in the garden in the evenings, especially at this time in summer. I remembered the delight of my favourite spot. As I write, I am back in those moments. Through the scent, a joy of memories.
I saw thistles at various stages of growth, from nascent to full bloom. As I stopped to gaze at one, I thought to myself when was the last time I looked at a thistle with this much detail?
I noticed the small sphere at the bottom of the thistle, then the opening at the top from which purple was emerging. The details fascinate me. I continued on my walk, stopping to look at other flowers, too. I paid attention to the colours – the light blues, the whites, the greens, the purples – and looking out for small flowers.
I wonder: Is flowering a verb, as in to go flowering; to find occupation in exploring to see what different kinds of flowers one can see?
