Missing flowers today, caught in the gaping maw of August here. The ravage heat wastes any precious bloom this time of year. Water is just a wish to save all but desert plants from crusty brown demise.
I think of leaving to a lushlovely, rainy place when the sun takes permanent throne. When 100 degrees is ho-hum and only 50 or more days of white-hot 100°+ leaves the weather person dry mouthed and sweating for synonyms for hot. Or hotter. Or hottest. But the clouds hinted at rain this weekend, some wayward drops sprinkled. Plash. A soft pliff here and there. Smell of overheated earth. This painting by Lily Martine Baxter captures the moment.
Where between the sun and the rain, blossoms a fresh cluster of color. The heavens cooled briefly and then the color springs and drizzles. Lavender rivulets and saffron trickles. A color front – precipitation blooming. Open-mouthed to catch a drop or perhaps a petal.