Everywhere I looked in the garden today there were patches of colour, largely provided by the daffodils. Drifts of them are blooming, with many of them still in bud. In my imagination, their golden trumpets played a tremulous, tentative melody. The kookaburras seemed to be listening to it intently.
Tiny rolled on the ground joyfully.
Time ebbed away as I leant on a sun warmed wall and watched the bees gathering their pollen.
Still the garden waits.
Tiny rolled on the ground joyfully.
Time ebbed away as I leant on a sun warmed wall and watched the bees gathering their pollen.
Still the garden waits.
