‘I’m going to look at the dandelions,’ I said. ‘There’s loads of them.’
‘I’ll come,’ she said.
‘Come on. Hurry up, then. It’s happy hour.’
It was the end of the day and suddenly still and sunny. The star was taking a curtain call. Earlier there had been hail so heavy you had to raise your voice against it, wind hard from all quarters and rolling thunder with skies so grey all might have seemed hopeless to anyone who hadn’t spotted the pink flowers by the pond. It takes a groaning grey sky to really set off a pink flower. But now, gold light was flying in sideways, and green and blue were everywhere and looked good together for spring. Sometimes, in the hour before sunset, the light is so rich and dazzling even a pile of tyres sitting on a concrete slab looks like God might have put them there just to show off.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in