If a picture paints a thousand bulbs

John Paul Flintoff recommended reading a book by a Buddhist Monk, titled The Miracle of Mindfulness. He said it would only take an hour out of my life. Unfortunately, I haven't managed to get past Chapter One yet, although I did read the Preface too. 
I am sure that I would benefit from slowing my life down and living in the moment. At the present moment in my life, however, I struggle at the concept that I should be 'washing the dishes to wash the dishes.' It is ironic then, that when I slouched out for my Sunday morning swim (aka 'getting my head 'round things' time), I end up listening to Dassini of the Glasgow Buddhist Centre. 
I say ironic because, as I mentioned in my SFTW post, I was planning a weekend task that could be considered one of peaceful awareness. Unfortunately though, although I did appreciate the spring flowers, attempting to record them in a way that would help the viewer appreciate them, usurped any moments of mindfulness.
No worries, I just hope that my efforts might make you more aware, in the weeks ahead, of the new born growth that we are able to witness: 

Under the trees in parks

Around gravestones in an Ancient Church

The vibrancy of new colours

Wild garlic, with its pungent smell

Where snowdrops die, others blossom

And just as the inspiration to last week's blog was a farewell to Joseph Malkovitch, I hope that this one may cause you to think of the link to the birth of new life at the beginning of Spring. 
Maybe I could also cause you to consider, if you read the tribute to him, whether your thoughts towards him would be like mine, of compassion and empathy, to his tale of uncomplaining hardship?
Which I think should be the final irony in this post: A Christian Return to Work Mother, feeling a Buddhist belief in the development of loving kindness, to a deceased Jewish Octogenarian.  Boy, if only the world that we are living in today, was like that too.

Then you and I could simply fly away