Just wanted to re-post this here because it’s a very subtle, powerful description of dementia and the way it interacts with everyday life. One moment, everything is going well and then it can shift.
Something happened yesterday…
Yesterday was the first day of my summer.
Butterflies emerged in crowds.
Purple Emperor, Red Admiral, Comma…
I’ve been waiting for them for days, wondering whether weather had wrecked their cycle and drowned them.
And suddenly they were on the great purple spikes of buddleia flowers.
Flitting, flirting, clapping, waving, showing off their magnificent new bodies.
And for me that’s the start of English summer.
There were other visitors too…
A Hummingbird Hawk Moth and Painted Lady from France.
Ringlets, meadow Browns and gatekeepers on the flowering oregano that’s spread like spilled paint across the flower garden.
I gazed at all these lovely annual gifts around me, the best presents each year.
Gardening here is a continual struggle. Nature wants to return in its own way, but I want my own version. Capability Rook, allowing some, forbidding others.
So I catch moles in the morning, admire…
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