April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot from The Wasteland
those crocuses from a couple days ago?
covered with snow.
I am reading The Jewel in the Crown, the first novel in Paul Scott's Raj Quartet, which takes place in Mayapore, India in the final years of British imperial dominion. A snippet of his description of a luxurious garden filled with jasmine, bougainvillea, lilies, tamarind, banyan, light and shadows:
"The range of green is extraordinary, palest lime, bitter emerald, mid-tones, neutral tints. The textures of the leaves are many and varied, they communicate themselves through sight to imaginary touch, exciting the finger-tips: leaves coming into the tenderest flesh, superbly in their prime, crisping to old age."
I'd like to drive around the country taking picture of all the shades and textures of green. Look at the difference between Bluffton, South Carolina:
and Yountville, California: