The borage plant in our garden is almost otherworldly. It is has a misty look to it because it is covered in a light fur, and its pointed flowers, like stars, are a deeper blue than the sky. It has always startled me to pass it, as though I had wandered into a lovely elvin presence. Today my son picked borage flowers for me and held them out in his still round six-year old hand. I was lying down, so I looked up at him with deepest indigo in his hand, and light blue in his eyes, and the whole wide blue sky framing him. I ate the flowers, which were cool and pleasant as cucumbers, and felt blessed beyond my ability to understand it.
PS. Still no voice recognition here, but it will be soon!
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