Dear you,
The art of play is not so fine. It is quite simple, really. And good for the soul, it surely is. From my claimed seat in the gardens, a camel crossed my path and momentarily made for itself a wigged pink hairpiece from the foliage behind. Part floral crown, part neon halo, the impression drew delight down deep to tickle my very once-cynical bones. Such passing visuals make me chortle to myself. A camel can become a crowned head of state, unbeknownst to itself, and a lion can sport a fantastical mane of geraniums and zinnias and other showy bright blooms. And there to my left, a mouse with a fantastical cape of flora sailing through the air! The longer I sit here, the more I see. Proof positive that much good comes from quietly meditating. Pondering over that which is before me and letting thoughts randomly form, I think I could sit all spring long in such a place.
Yours warming the cockles, and feeding the glee amidst the bluebells standing tall,
X
(Postcard collage title: Pink crowned glory.)