The tenth day

Every branch, every blade of grass, every petal on the few flowers blooming in the garden seemed bejewelled with water droplets this morning in the garden. Mist had curled itself around the village like a friendly cat and left reminders of itself everywhere in this green and grey world.

I had to content myself with stone birds as nowhere were the usual magpies, cockatoos or tiny wrens to be seen. Only in the distance could I hear the faint laughter of a kookaburra.

The ninth day

The morning was slate grey, the rain a constant companion as I walked gingerly around the garden, avoiding puddles and slippery pavers. Water dripped off every branch and leaf. I was briefly saddened to see the geraniums had been pulled out, but knew that I had to trust the gardener.

A sodden day. And yet - there were the snowdrops glowing in the grey. Tiny pink flowers like lamps in the gloom.

Everywhere I looked green bulbs were pushing through the wet earth, vibrant with life.