Yesterday I got my annual car tax bill.  This is what it looks like.

Cute n’est ce pas?

It is Sunday. The weather is perfect. I get up early and go diving with the neighbors. It is perfect.

Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan

I go to buy bread at the amazing bakery next to my flat.

This is the bag they put my croissants in.

I go for a walk down a pathway that I have seen many times but not had the opportunity to follow. Today is the day. It winds along a a stream in a hidden valley. There are butterflies everywhere. Some are large and yes, some are small. Some are like  pure white pieces of tissue paper that float in the wind bereft of any will. The sun shines through their wings. Others are jet black and swoop with the purpose of stealth bombers. What unites them is there reluctance to be photographed.

Spring

A little one

It is a beautiful walk

Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.

That last caption is so true. As with most things concerned with nature there is a correlation between how fast you are moving and how much you see. In a car you see little, on a bike more, walking even more. If you stop and like chill, you are in the middle of it and so I repose by an ancient tomb.

What would Wordsworth have said?

Huge grasshopper

The last of the Mohicans

They also serve who only sit and wait

What kind of wierdo, jurassic park frogs will these become?

This one is big

Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake – as almost all hats are.

I then set off for a social gathering on a beach but alas Big Red is sick. The rear wheel is buckled. How? Maybe this.

Big Red thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Crimson Joy

The famous legend of the King Robert the Bruce of Scotland depicts a spider as a symbol for hope. Historians are unsure of the legend’s truth and agree that it is probably apocryphal, but in the legend Bruce, when fighting the English, took refuge in a cave after a series of military failures. Whilst hiding in the cave he saw a spider, which continued to fail to climb up its silken thread to its web. After repeatedly failing to climb upwards, the spider eventually succeeded due to perseverance. Taking this as a symbol for hope and perseverance, much like the saying “try, try and try again”, Bruce came out of hiding. Bruce eventually won Scotland’s independence and many cite Rathlin Island as the cave in which this legend took place.^[14]

Scots! wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots! wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour:
See approach proud Edward’s power –
Chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
What for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’?
Let him on wi’ me!
By oppression’s woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow! –
Let us do or die!

Which brings me to my garden.

It has essentially been a disaster. Typhoons have lashed it, the sun has scorched it and the brick clay nature of the soil have combined to produce almost no produce. I have tried and failed. I decided to give it up. Fie on’t! ah fie! ’tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.”

I did get a few onions

About a year ago

I went to have a look to see if I could salvage something.  To my astonishment I have a gardening friend whom during my absence in Europe, has been hard at work.

A year later

We have a vegetable grower’s conversation, he in Japanese, me in English. He is clearly the real thing, understanding the cycles of Okinawan horticulture. I come away understanding that now is the time to plant goya and tomatoes.

He is my spider. He catalyzes me to persevere, er, like Bruce.

My first goya

On to Bannockburn

So after 2 weeks of pretty intensive traveling, tight schedules, house selling, tax negotiations, Web stuff, conference committees, receptions with, you know, important people, visits to first division journalistic players, seeing my mummy who is 89, seeing my brother and sister to indulge in many colonoscopy related conversations, I am at last back to what is now home.

Oh the joy of a day doing nothing. I love to potter.  No hurry, no deadline, no flight to catch but the pleasure of polishing silver spoons.

Sit on the terrace, watch the warm rain and indulge in Silvo

Put a Japanese plug on my camera battery charger.

No more fiddly adaptors

Repair the beading on my desk.

Have been meaning to do this for ages

Build the  Heartful Bird for the bathroom.

I love these things

Listen to music, learn a new tune on the flute, Dublin Porter, 05 Navvy on the Shore, Glen of Aherlow, Dublin Porter, Pinch of Snuff, and lots of other small tasks that have been left undone. 

I think the Italians say, “il dolce far niente“.  I say potter.

potter verb

/ˈpɒt.ər//ˈpɑː.t ̬ɚ/ [I usually + adverb or preposition] mainly UK (USusually putter)

Bonnie was a very brave and faithful little dog who had a tragic end to her life.

Adventure dog

She is buried in a beautiful place, which I visited on my recent trip to France.

Just behind the Mont St Victoire