Last night, unable to sleep at 2:30 in the morning, I got up and put on a sweater and wandered out into the backyard. I stood on the stones of the retaining wall so I could get a better look at the odd looking smudge of moon that was struggling to shine behind the clouds. It was an irregular egg shape, lying on it's side. A confused looking moon to be sure.
The breeze that had been blowing all day, continued last night and made for a rather magical scene. The peach tree is still restrained in it's netting, protecting it from the blue jays and starlings. It couldn't engage in it's usual graceful swaying with the breeze. I don't think it appreciates what we have done. But perhaps when we begin to coo and exclaim over it's ripe fruit in a month or so, it will forgive us it's present indignity.
The fruitless pear has grown so much this year. It stood waving it's dark branches in the subdued moonlight, the rustling leaves seeming to whisper some message to the going to seed hollyhocks nearby. The stalks are loaded with ripening seeds and the once proud spikes that were covered with ruby blooms, splay out in all directions, waving one or two flowers along their length. The plant looks for all the world like an upside down octopus with bows on it's tentacles.
I spent some time on the swing, listening to the rustles and sighs all around me. No other sound intruded while the moon hurried toward the horizon. I think it was distressed that it looked so poorly last night and wanted to get his shift over as soon as possible. I'm sure he's hoping for a better showing tonight.
I wonder if I will be awake to see it. . .
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By daylight. . .
The lilies and the hydrangea are being drawn together by a morning glory into a group hug. I don't know how the lily and the hydrangea feel about this. . .