While in Australia I went out looking for wildflowers but it was too hot to snatch more than a couple. Well, that’s my excuse. All that foliage is a fiddle to draw. I chose simpletons.
I read only one book (and started another):
May Sarton writes in Journal of a Solitude: ‘ â€¦ we have to make myths of our lives, the point being that if we do, then every grief or inexplicable seizure by weather, woe or work can â€” if we discipline ourselves and think hard enough â€” be turned to account, be made to yield further insight into what it is to be alive, to be a human being, what the hazards are of a fairly usual, everyday kind.’
We were given tickets for a dress rehearsal at the Sydney Opera House: