old stories were told of a young man, in love with himself. flowers are, as we should remember, a little different. and many varieties can brighten our spring gardens. people are a bit like that. now that we hardly ever see them, we can appreciate the beautiful variety.
a favorite, it grows in a warm place, somewhere i've never been. several years have gone now and there may be no way back. exotic and bright, it pleased me: something so strange and wonderful. tropical sun powers colour to overwhelm my temperate vision, and i am almost blinded.
small predators can do amazing damage to a colony of aphids. reclaiming our roses, from a very bad invasion, one morning, just before sunrise, one summer day, as i applied the small paintbrush painting hope onto dying roses. a company of tiny carnivores, assured of victory, as I finished, almost before a slaughter of the aphids, a quick feast for ladybugs
see where i've been a vibrant garden, it all stands still this coloured scene. hurtle through the sky, some summer day five hundred miles per hour, so they say. a garden has some mystery, a latent threat, a body buried somewhere, no regrets. a virus, all invisible has murdered peace of mind. estranging friend from friend, who could not stand comfortably close, to share those all important confidences social creatures mad monkeys in a riot, how can the centre hold, it's never quiet. see where i've been a vibrant garden, it all stands still this coloured scene.
Rosemary almost december, i dug, as she said. take up the rosemary, out of the bed. i dug as directed, she knows what she wants dug up the herbs, put them in pots. winter, you see will be coming by soon, and cold will get nasty, far beyond gruesome. but her herbs in a pot and under our lights, should live all the winter and into the spring.
sunflowers bow to autumn ripening just in time for little birds celebrating ripe sunflowers. winds ring our big wind chime. i look out the window watching those birds, and see them thrown about by the wind like leaves dancing with a breeze. the sunflower's gone now, harvested and dry. little birds have moved on; little wings will fly.
look again, as chilly rain drops from a dark gray sky, as we watch slow decay and walk on by. magnolias do a good show in the spring. fabulous flowers never last long enough. by october, there is little semblance of what it used to be. no flowers left. a sudden frost, and then we see even leaves can survive just so much: all must fall. we wait for winter blizzards, to waken in icy mornings to see shocking white snowdrifts, to watch warm pillows falling, changing our frozen world, transforming every landscape.
Virginia Creeper 2 virginia creeper on a black chain-link fence. we would never have believed that it would ever look like that. but now, we've thought about it, and every year it looks like this. that, this and the other. it comes back each year. more vivid than i'd have thought. someday, perhaps, i'll learn to trust my eyes. virginia creeper on a black chain-link fence.
is it never beautiful when it looks out of focus? focus is certainty. and we seem to like it. but is it ever to be really trusted? too much time in easy chairs might make my back ache. sometimes i need to find a less comfortable pastime. i need to refocus on certainty and learn to see the never seen, and maybe understand beyond focus, where there are different beauties.
on hands and knees i twist and stretch looking for an image i could love, up above it all, a golden light cruises overhead. but shadows move imperceptably slowly. so things change. i see no movement, and so it is. my vision has no great value. i do not matter. and there it is! the very thing i wanted, picture of joy, summer on a screen. i'll put it on a page. someone will surely love it. so i like to think, anyways