I spent part of my day in a peculiar (to outsiders) yet familiar (to me) position, with elbows and forearms on the ground, derrière tilted skyward, commando crawling across the lawn, deploying a series of three different lenses, immersing myself into the tiny, lovely world of grass and flowers. Thinking back to my 15 year old self, she would never have imagined behaving with such abandon, but I've gone beyond caring about appearances or about what people think of me. I've grown into my self, and accepted her for who she is.

These pictures are the fruit of my excursion. 

But for starters, a favourite poem from Mary Oliver:

“I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,

yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head

and her wet nose
touching
the face
of every one

with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising

into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen

hovered -
and easily
she adored
every blossom

not in the serious
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom

the way we praise or don't praise -
the way we love
or don't love -
but the way

we long to be -
that happy
in the heaven of earth -
that wild, that loving.”