Well, it's autumn: the house is filled with roasted vegetable aromas; I have emptied out the dried petals from my sweet little wooden bowl and filled it with glossy conkers instead. All most seasonal.
But orchids just do their own thing, don't they; they operate on their own internal, unpredictable space-time continuum. I had bought one en route home from Dublin the other week, and settled it in before I headed for Annaghmakerrig (a moment's revered silence for that place). When I arrived home, it had flowered :-)
I thought the flowers would be white, so the dainty yellow was a treat. And it releases an exquisite scent, which I inhale, curled up on the sofa, typing quietly, kitties sleeping on me. Doubly treaty.
Funnily enough, the scent suits The Cloisters perfectly.
2 comments:
I'm really impressed with the conkers. Chestnut trees were rare enough where I lived in Dublin so competition was fierce. Until I was ten or so I had my secret source "in da countra'" but once we severed that link I always seemed to get my timing wrong and end up with a paltry selection of wizened left overs. One of the big treats of moving to more leafy suburbs was to find the ground strewn with giants of polished perfection. So treaty in fact that I would come home from a run with my pockets and fists crammed with found treasure, part marathon man.....part ...squirrel!
Oh Tom! The squirrel triumphant :-) Now if you're going doing a (life-threatening) marathon, you can't go lugging conkers around; they'll feel like lead after ten miles...
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