the mist sing
It’s one of the things I am enjoying most about gardening more: finding tiny flowers that otherwise I’d not have noticed.
A tiny burst of colour, lurking in the shady undergrowth.
So shady, so small, I couldn’t get a clear photograph, could only get an image, an impression, a sense of the feeling of the colour that I found.
I think the flower is the lungwort, named for its association with the lungs. I have read that this was from the shape of the leaves, or the colouring of the lungs.
Either way, it is a reminder to me: to breathe.
To breathe in pink, to breathe in purple, to breathe in blue.
To breathe in colour.
I have such a well-developed sense of seriousness, of graveness, of gravity: I am forever grateful for these tiny bursts of tininess, of surprise, of colour that I find when I’m not looking.
These tiny breaths of colour.