pecunium

The light is blue today. That shallow light, coming from the south, which has that crystalline quality to it. It picks up the green of the winter plants, and the yellow of the schoolyard on the other side of the fence.

Where it hits the wall, it is white. One has to squint to see through that white to the pink of the mouse house.

I love this light. This angle of light is the 1/3rd of the year I like best for photography. Even at noon it has modelling, and Oliver's coat glistens as he runs beneath the rosemary and the cactus.

We have a window full of plants (above the snakes and the books, which live cheek by jowl). Maia likes orchids, but refused to let me buy her any until she had her own kitchen to put them in. Last Christmas she said one looked pretty, which was nothing new, and that we ought to get it, which was. Now we have a veritable jungle of them.

Phaleopsis, Cymbidium, and a Dendrobium. Green and yellow and purple, chocolate red and mottled pinks. The flowers which never seem to fade, and then, whoof they shrivel and fall.

Those plants people say are finicky. That moving them, or repotting, or looking at them cross-eyed will stop them from blooming; for years. We have three (including that first one) which are sending up racemes. They've made two major moves, been sunbjected to three different climates and light levels lacking in steadiness. But they bloom.

Gotta love it. Gives ya' hope.