This is our last cool morning for a while so the doors and windows are open and the breeze is blowing toward the house, meaning it must pass through the lavender which is pushing out all the wonderful aromas that collected overnight. I'm thinking a rose' from Provence for dinner tonight.
A few words from John Keats.....
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim....
Ode to a Nightingale.