Monday, May 14, 2012
If I have begun to pride myself on not expecting more than is realistic in a particular situation, exuberance seems suddenly to flame out before me.
Generosity erupts in the face of hopes that I have learned to keep modest.
Not enough snow this winter? Not enough winter? Not enough rain? Not enough sun? The rhododendrons that border the walkway to my front door have emerged, nonetheless, with all their accustomed color and vigor.
One picture that I took of a venerable old monument became a picture instead of the green background of trees through which the morning sun was flooding. The very shadows in which the monument stands seem green in the picture, so lush is the May growth of leaves.
A find of the afternoon was a work by nineteenth-century French artist Charles Alexis Apoil. The portrait he painted of his son and himself hangs in the Grand Gallery. It took my heart away.