The world around is becoming green tinged, and plants are growing vigorously, making the most of the rain while it lasts.
Recently I took photos of the raindrops caught on leaves in our garden - on the lushly green grape and passionfruit that entwine over our small undercover area, on my beloved rose, on a hibiscus that is mundane in ordinary light - magical illuminated and dew-hung. I could almost feel the joy of the plants as they drank in the cool and the moisture. The droplets intrigued me with their beauty, the way they held light, reflections.
It seems this year it is the small things, the in-your-face ephemeral things, that are catching my attention.
Yesterday I walked the dogs as the sun rose and the light upon a field of overgrown grass and weeds gilded a multitude of spiders webs strung with drew. I only had my phone - the phone camera didn't do it justice. It is the way the light catches on grass seeds, the beauty in a drop of dew, in the small lives of the teaming micro world of insects that fascinates me.
My mum visits soon - a short weeks visit that will hopefully not lead to quarantine or isolation - she's bringing her micro-lens and I am so looking forward to capturing even more intricate and tiny details.
For now I wait eagerly for the cool of the setting sun and the gentle glow of last-light, to see how it will fall on the vigorous, chaotic weeds of the road verge, with all their contrasts of spikes, thorns, prickles and down of thistle and dandelion, so soft and lovely it looks as if it were made to line the cradles of Thumbelina sized fae-folk.
We have had amazing spider webs here now it's Autumn- one incorporating a curled leaf, taking up a half a row of the washing line, diagonally from line to pole. And now torrential rain, so lovely for the garden
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