before i get to the pink of it, here's a refreshing blast of orange.
two new poppies popped this morning!
here's how they did it.
now, maybe, you can survive the pink that follows.
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| too pink |
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| much too pink & too much pink |
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| i can handle this. more of a salmon color. |
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| much more restful to my eyes. |
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| close to orange, so i approve. |
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| could be too pink - but all the green makes it okay. |
the last camellia to bloom is in the far back corner of the yard.
the flowers are heavy, layered, and blood red.
not pink.
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| they resemble roses, don't they? |
which, if you follow the link, does so remind me of a scene
from my favorite movie. it is, as follows:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Chapter two," said Cecil, yawning. "Find me chapter two, if it isn't bothering you."
Chapter two was found, and she glanced at its opening sentences.
She thought she had gone mad.
"Here--hand me the book."
She heard her voice saying: "It isn't worth
reading--it's too silly to read--I never saw such rubbish--it oughtn't
to be allowed to be printed."
He took the book from her.
"'Leonora,'" he read, "'sat pensive and alone. Before
her lay the rich champaign of Tuscany, dotted over with many a smiling
village. The season was spring.'"
Miss Lavish knew, somehow, and had printed the past in draggled prose, for Cecil to read and for George to hear.
"'A golden haze,'" he read. He read: "'Afar off the
towers of Florence, while the bank on which she sat was carpeted with
violets. All unobserved Antonio stole up behind her--'"
Lest Cecil should see her face she turned to George and saw his face.
He read: "'There came from his lips no wordy
protestation such as formal lovers use. No eloquence was his, nor did he
suffer from the lack of it. He simply enfolded her in his manly arms.'"
"This isn't the passage I wanted," he informed them. "there is another much funnier, further on." He turned over the leaves.
"Should we go in to tea?" said Lucy, whose voice remained steady.
She led the way up the garden, Cecil following her,
George last. She thought a disaster was averted. But when they entered
the shrubbery it came. The book, as if it had not worked mischief
enough, had been forgotten, and Cecil must go back for it; and George,
who loved passionately, must blunder against her in the narrow path.
from Chapter XV: A Disaster Within in A Room With A View by E.M.Forster (1908)
