“I don’t try to keep a perfect lawn,” said Ms. Blell, who welcomes the intrusions of clover and moss. “It’s my great medievalist gesture: Just let it be.”
(From “Artists’ Gardens”)
There is something so lush and so life-giving about the spring rain and that chaotic riot of green which has replaced the greyness of winter and its discontent. It is violent and gentle at once, leaving in its wake a steamy haze perfumed by earth and roses, a cacophony of birds and insects, all shouting out “I am here! I am alive!” and with it we too shout the same from within.