Barefoot, in this
lovely, shady yard. Eating plums
and reading Colette.
image: Therese Nicolas
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About Me
- Christie
- Creative writer - Traveler - Archaeologist manque - Ardent lover of the play of light, the journeyings of time, things ephemeral and ancient
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On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain
How lovely is that?
ReplyDeleteThat's a place I would rather be too, eating plums, and cherries, and apricots, and almonds, with a cup of smoking green tea, or cold lemon tea. If I think that, back in Europe, I used to visit a dear friend of mine, and we'd spend hours (in the summer) sitting in his garden, which is pretty much as cozy as this one, if not more, and talk for hours.
Ah, how sweet and lulling remembrance can be...
Jay—
ReplyDeleteGardens remembered are indeed the sweetest. I often linger in mind and spirit in the shade of the cottonwood tree in the backyard of my childhood home, safe in the love of my parents and the perfect coolness of the dappled leaf-shadow, where time ran ahead of me as generous as a deep green river, never to be doubted...
Thanks for stopping to talk for awhile. Enjoy the weekend.