Yesterday we took an excursion with my friend Yelena to Big Almaty Lake, it was overcast and once to the top, it started to rain. That helped to keep the dusty roads dampened down once we made our jolting ride back to civilization. The flowers I picked were familiar like forget-me-nots and a kind of sweet pea, the others were not.
“It isn’t raining rain for me, it’s raining daffodils;
In every dimpling drop I see wild flowers upon the hills.
A cloud of gray engulfs the day, and overwhelms the town;
It isn’t raining rain for me: it’s raining roses down.”
