I just discovered today that Claude Monet ordered his water lilies for Giverny from a garden centre (or nineteenth century equivalent) close to where I live.
Nénuphar, lotus flowers, water-colour a garden beneath northern light, water lilies born here in this berceau of quietude. Water, Lot river flows into the Garonne, flowing seawards through green fields and woodland. River, lily-lit, water-green and silent flows, coloured bright as sunsets, to a painter’s northern garden, from this cradle that I call home.
Air so hot
it cracks the ear the eye
and the birds save their breath
faint chirrups in the hedge.