Absolute bliss

I have been in Kansas since the last weekend having a whale of time with my little nephew. A little more than six months, he is at his cutest best. Pudgy hands and feet, chubby cheeks, twinkling eyes and a smile that warms the very core of my heart. He is one happy, happy boy!

And when the little cherub rests his wee bit o' head on my shoulders... I smell a sunny, green meadow chockablock with flowers galore. It feels as if all is well with the world, just like it should be. Just like it is in his dreams.

Lavender craze

After the much loud and unladylike whining in the last couple of posts, I am all elegant and wise again. At least I shall try, despite myself. The deluge of regrets and rants have been tossed to where it belongs - yesterday. Dieu merci!! The catalyst is always a book, or a movie (these days it is mostly French and hence the broken, ungrammatical bits of phrases and expressions!), or a piece of chaste nature. And nature it is - lavender, the enchantress! As an ardent admirer of the tiny yet powerfully magical flowers and that haunting fragrance, lavender means so much more to me - colour, hope, love, and above all tranquility. I have always envied my fellow bloggers who live in the to-die-for scenic English and French countrysides and enjoy nature's bounty to the hilt, where they could have a complete lavender farm to themselves. Why lavender, any other flower for that matter. Sigh! No matter, no matter... With a solitary pot that has been generous enough to burst and bow with purple glory, I have made Provence out of my cozy green patio. Hence soothed and lulled to the very bones, I write this, enwrapped in my purple dreams.

Ooh and yes, there are the dried flowers too. How about a lavender cupcake one of these days?!

The dainty lavender lady fluttering in the wind

Peeping over The Art of Fiction

Afternoon tea with the other patio friends - Miss Gerby (gerbera) and Miss Gery (geranium)

Dried lavender flowers

And, the happy moi. All purged!