After the much loud and unladylike whining in the last couple of posts, I am all elegant and wise again. At least I shall try, despite myself. The deluge of regrets and rants have been tossed to where it belongs - yesterday. Dieu merci!! The catalyst is always a book, or a movie (these days it is mostly French and hence the broken, ungrammatical bits of phrases and expressions!), or a piece of chaste nature. And nature it is - lavender, the enchantress! As an ardent admirer of the tiny yet powerfully magical flowers and that haunting fragrance, lavender means so much more to me - colour, hope, love, and above all tranquility. I have always envied my fellow bloggers who live in the to-die-for scenic English and French countrysides and enjoy nature's bounty to the hilt, where they could have a complete lavender farm to themselves. Why lavender, any other flower for that matter. Sigh! No matter, no matter... With a solitary pot that has been generous enough to burst and bow with purple glory, I have made Provence out of my cozy green patio. Hence soothed and lulled to the very bones, I write this, enwrapped in my purple dreams.
Ooh and yes, there are the dried flowers too. How about a lavender cupcake one of these days?!
The dainty lavender lady fluttering in the wind
Peeping over The Art of Fiction
Afternoon tea with the other patio friends - Miss Gerby (gerbera) and Miss Gery (geranium)
Dried lavender flowers
And, the happy moi. All purged!