The morning after the rain

This morning dawned bright and clear, with the rain still clinging to the leaves of the plants in our garden. I love the rain at night; the smell in the air, the quiet behind the gentle patter of water droplets, the drifting sound of the small stream near our house as I fall asleep.

As we moved into the morning light, the colours of the summer garden shone . The simplest things strike me as so beautiful: the transition of bold colours in a Virginia creeper (home of a little spider) or within a strawberry plant leaf, the patterns in the heart of a lettuce and the way the sunlight glows through the veins, the unhurried promise of an unfurling rose bloom. I am humbled by the elegantly draping ash leaf, with its intricate lines and toothed edge, the subtle curl of each leaftip; the silent potency of an emerging crocosmia flower, the staggering contrast between an open flower and a blue sky.

There is magic in the world around us. All we have to do is see it.


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