There's something about spring mornings. I took this picture outside the Viceregal Lodge, stunned at the time, by the way spring seemed to have burst over Shimla. Flames of greens and blues and whites and yellows shooting upwards and outwards. A lovely day to do little else but lie back, chew on a blade of grass and ponder the shapes of the clouds. D.H Lawrence puts it so well:
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.
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