I was straining at the bit to hit the trail. So I did the logical thing and signed up for a tour that included wildflowers stops.
It was an interesting experience. We’d be in the middle of nowhere and the guide would say, “We’ll stop for a while for you to look at some wild flowers.” I looked out of the window … “But, where?”
trooped down anyway. Maybe it was too early in the season. Maybe if I looked more closely…
First, I couldn’t see anything of interest. Then finally I saw one, and then another. The more we looked, the more wildflowers we found. It was a bit like looking for sand dollars on the beach.
Some of the flowers were tiny but gorgeous, emerging out of the dry sandy soil and what seemed like punishing conditions.
Some flowers were modest and understated in pale pastels while others shouted in gay psychedelic colours.
There were wild wildflowers … as opposed to cultivated ones, for want of a better phrase. I saw plenty of the latter.
There were masses of them and I was just as enchanted. I almost fell over myself in my haste to see everything. There were drifts of pink wildflowers everywhere, and yellow ones too.
I soaked it all in and was dumbfounded by their beauty. But I guess there is no need for any more words when the flowers speak for themselves.