The flowers season

All of a sudden, you wake up at dawn in the morning, hoping to peck that wretched badger who is gnawing and poking, all over the lawn and instead, with amazement, you realize that in a single day, the elder leaves have exploded with white flowers.

So get out and go under the leaves, moist with the night's breath, to inhale this light scent, a little sweetish, similar to that of acacias, which have been in bloom for days, but still lingers in the air.

You think that unfortunately it won't rain even today, but you enjoy that warmth of the sun just risen (cabbage: it feels like July ... and it's not good at all)

You decide to refresh the haggard geraniums, just potted and you see in the tall grass of the sgreppa, those bluish and perfect forget-me-not flowers ... the Etruscan violets are suffocating among the various wild essences, which rise upwards, dominating the purple and yellow, but forget-me-not, it resists thick and luxuriant locks, determined to make room for at least ten days.

In front of the hill, the yellow of the gorse lights up, invincible pioneers of these lands. But how many flowers around, how green, how much nature ...

The heart is settled for today.

Nature paints for us, day after day, images of infinite beauty. (John Ruskin)