Friday, May 8, 2015

“The Hills are alive with the Sound of Music”


 
Planajeur looking at the Dents de Morcles

Cause I’m singing.

It’s not just the twitter of the birds (not too many crows yet so the little ones can shine), nor the buzzing of the bees; not the wind in the trees nor the crackling of leaves (too damp after the last downpour).  It’s the melody of joy percolating through my soul (much like my beloved coffee earlier).

A sunny day neither too warm – it is May after all and I’m in the alps – nor too cold: no gloves, no bonnet, no heavy jacket.

The joy leaps ahead of me and trails behind me. I’d sing out loud, but it’s actually enough to be humming.

Not only are there sounds in the woods of great harmony, but all the little flowers are blooming from the wild strawberries (a promise of delicious bites to come), to the nubs that will become blueberries: even though I only found three-leaved clover, I don’t need the luck – I carry it with me.

Life at its best, just me and the mountain paths and forests.

more pretty yellow

still a bit of branch laying on the path



very small yellow flowers

very small blue flowers

flowers on the wild strawberries

clover

not-quite-blueberries