After three months of moaning about the cold and smog, I parted the drapes Sunday morning to find blue skies!
Our little park across the street suddenly burst into color with patches of flowers, so I forced my sleestak of a husband to leave the house and stroll through the gardens.
Grass doesn’t seem to interest anyone here, and whoever planted the flowers clearly hasn’t researched what to plant where. For example, marigolds ringed a huge tree, blooming on the sunny side and withering on the shady side, as would be expected. True, too, for the vast stretches of poppies lining the fence.
If we’ve learned anything as global residents, though, it’s that not everyone does things the way WE do things. And that’s OK. And I should stop judging and enjoy the park.
Blue skies!
See, it’s a GOOD thing they don’t cultivate the grass because these cricket-playing kids would just mess it up.
Napping in the sunshine.
Poppies! Beautiful poppies! (Admit it: You can’t say “poppies” without using your Wicked Witch of the West voice. It’s OK. We all do it.)
Ahhh, fresh-ish air!
So much strolling is hard on us senior citizens.
