From the broken window of an abandoned tanning salon, I was able to select this message.
What I like about the herb, sage, is its name, with its connotation of wisdom. The Romans called it Herba Sacra and mixed it with cheese. In French, sage means "good" in the sense of good behaviour. So you say to a child: Est-ce-que tu as été sage? Have you behaved yourself? I like that too because the implication of wisdom adds a pleasing dimension to have you been a"good boy or girl? The herb is however called sauge in French .The Spanish and Latin name of the herb, meanwhile, is echoed in the name we use generically for the numerous garden varieties - Salvia. When the sage, which I planted last year in a herb bed, comes into flower just now, I realize that its purple flowers on tall stems could belong equally well in the border of a flower garden.
While watering the seedlings with a hose, this morning, a rainbow in the wide band of the spray touches me with a benign giddiness.
Wisdom, a brilliant little purple flower alongside useful leaves and a colourful moment plucked from nature - a nice combination.
June in Oz
There are many ironies to be found on the windows of shops that have been forced to close. The hyberbolic language and the urgency of the posters contrast sadly with the empty shelves and the fan of junk mail behind the door. To be out-lived by junk mail! A tanning salon would seem to be the least necessary feature on the High Street (other than a bookie's and they never seem to go bust) yet "Now" sounds like a final pathetic attempt at permanency.
Our sage flowers seem particularly fine this year, and really quite blue. I sprinkled some on a salad recently and received quite spontaneous oohs and aahs about it!
'Tis a wise child...
I put some in the bottom of soup bowls before pouring the soup. They floated prettily while they infused.
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