Here in Canada's Deep South, we've had a few mornings lately when I've seen frost on the neighbor's shingles. The container plants I have on the back patio are dead, but this one that hangs in the front, tucked in close to the house, is still going. It's gotten a bit nipped by the frost, though, and it's leaves are turning a dusky purple. It used to be a bright gemstone green all over, but I think it looks just as pretty now. I thought I'd saved the plastic stake that came stuck in the pot with it, so I'd know what it was, but I can't find it. I'd like to get more next year; it did really well in its shady location. The flowers look sort of like a cross between a violet and lobelia, to my untrained eye at least. If anybody knows what it is, I'd love to hear! Anyway, there's a chilly rain falling this morning. My nameless plant likely won't last very much longer, so - here's to you, little plant; you made my porch look real pretty all summer, and you attracted the first hummingbird I saw since moving here three years ago. Ciao bella!
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.