wet south bank and a few touches of yellow

Was taken with the mass planting of libertias under the robinias outside the Festival Hall. Libertias receive a bad press generally as the foliage tends to brown/blacken in winter time. They’re great for difficult corners on planting beds – I find anyway!

Under Hungerford Bridge, blocks of bright colour are welcome in the Scottish mists that seem to have clothed the south east – it’s May after all!  Mandela casts his eye across a wet landscape . . . .

. . . and no chance of these chairs being occupied this evening. I’m glad, as empty chairs make a good composition . . .

. . and although the weather sucks it means rather nice photographic views. Good comes from bad.

Just a fleeting visit out on the terrace of the National to enjoy the well scaled planting in the raised planters. Needs a jolly good weed though!

When I wake the rain’s falling
and I think, as always, it’s for the best.

I remember how much I love rain,
the weakest and strongest of us all;

as I listen to its yeses and no’s,
I think how many men and women

would, if they could,
against all sense and nature,

tax the rain for its privileges;

make it pay for soaking our earth
and splashing all over our leaves;
pay for muddying our grass
and amusing itself with our roots.

Let rain be taxed, they say
for riding on our rivers
and drenching our sleeves;

for loitering in our lakes
and reservoirs. Make rain pay its way.

make it pay for lying full length
in the long straight sedate green waters

of our city canals
and for working its way through processes

of dreamy complexity
until this too- long untaxed rain comes indoors,

and touches our lips,
bringing assuagement- for rain comes

to slake all our thirsts, spurting
brusque and thrilling in hot needles,

showering on to anyone naked;
or blaming our skins in the shape of scented baths.

Yes, they are many who’d like to tax the rain;
even now, they whisper, it can be done, it must be done.  Penelope Shuttle  Taxing the Rain