I keep trying to capture in pixels the images I see in my mind's eye. There is bound to be some photographic repetition. This is the closest yet of this tableau.
Everything has to be just right with the flowers and the light. Monet lives in the wind and a living vibration. The edge of things is getting blurry again.
Ten years later a meadow blooms like I once imagined it could be. It has been a very good bloom year from the start.
And the maintenance gardener keeps saying, "Mow the lawn."
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