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rejectomorphDay slipped past perfection into heat. The valley was lost in haze, and the mountains topped with vast white anvils of cloud. I listened to the cooling sound of water gurgling as I irrigated the roses, and smelled a sweet fragrance that hung in the still air, though I was unable to identify the source. An abundant shade, ringing with bird songs, provided some respite from the brightness, but I still found myself dozing on my feet, lulled by the unaccustomed warmth.
Evening is welcome. The sky is not passing through a pale stage tonight, as the airy mists are not scattered but have gathered into feathery wisps of cloud which now flush pink against deepening blue. The air remains still, though, and I watch the mulberry leaves eagerly, hoping to see them stirred by a fresh breeze. It is too early in the year for a hot night.
Evening is welcome. The sky is not passing through a pale stage tonight, as the airy mists are not scattered but have gathered into feathery wisps of cloud which now flush pink against deepening blue. The air remains still, though, and I watch the mulberry leaves eagerly, hoping to see them stirred by a fresh breeze. It is too early in the year for a hot night.
