I have been wandering in and out of the backyard. Pulled some weeds, gathered and pressed some wallflower blossoms. Pulled some more weeds. Cut some spent roses, dug up some nasty crabgrass. Inspected the tangerine “tree” ( it looks like a small shrub really) and there are wee little green tangerines on it, smaller than a pea.
Flowers are sprouting all over the place, I planted them so thick they LOOK like weeds and I had to thin out an over abundance of poppies.
The sweet peas are just beginning to bloom. So far the only color I have is lavender. I always plant a mixture of colors hoping for a dizzying array but so far I have not had the desired effect. We shall see about this year.
They smell…. wonderful. Sweet, just like their name, I think they are only rivaled by lilacs for fragrance. And alas, I am sorry to say, I have no lilacs in my yard.
When I was finished in the garden, I wrote an old fashioned letter to an old fashioned friend. I pasted cut-outs from an old calendar I was ready to throw out. Flowers and birds and country houses. It’s just the kind of thing I know she will love.
There is a sort of melancholy inducing layer of high clouds that make the sky seem so huge and unreachable. I cannot put a name to how they make me feel. Maybe like there are things afoot in other realms that we should be taking notice of, but are too busy pulling weeds and smelling sweet peas to pay proper attention. I’m not SURE that’s it, but it feels close. Pretty close.
Now, at the end of the day, I am wishing I had been inside more, perhaps cooking a pot of potato soup. Is it too late to begin such a project? I think I am too tired for it tonight. It’s supposed to rain later in the week. That would be the day to make soup. Today the sun shines, despite the encroaching clouds, soup will just have to wait.
<HR WIDTH="75%"COLOR="FF00FF"SIZE="8"