From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Monday, May 4, 2009

The Tulip Fields

We went to the Tulip Fields.


One of these flowers is not like the others...

Because it was the VERY end of the season, Scott and Aidan's favorite color was pretty much the only one on display.

It was beautiful.

some of the Tulips were HUGE.

and colorful.

And some had many many layers. This one looks like a carnation, but it was the size of a soup mug.

And some tiny tiny ones

White tulips of medium size surrounded by old yellow daffodils and smallish yellow tulips.

These are my very favorite. Black Tulips. I want to get some to plant with a white Daffodil.
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