I have been meandering (lonely as a cloud...well lonely as a Mummy with both babies newly in school. Oh hum.) The wind doing his very best to knock me off my feet. My soul is blown cobweb clear.
What a treasure trove! And I am a city girl. The colours, textures, variety make me long to be a painter. I can understand in this moment the urge to pick up a paint brush. Is it my human response, attempts to be involved with natures genius. Like a much admired creative friend, I want to play along side.
I used to have pockets full of conkers when I was at school. Not for an impromptu game! I did and still do pick them up and relish their jewel like gloss. Nutbrown smoothness. A transient treasure. Soon they dry out and dull.
Are all treasures such? Here for a time, but ultimately impossible to retain, despite locks, keys and treasure chests? Only perhaps love?
How many of you proffered these, wrapped in brown paper and string would be swept up. Your heart stolen. So much better then a dozen red hot house roses?
I am home and happy.