As I have said before, this time of year my garden is usually no good. Roses few and far between, ferns all crunchy, and only the native manzanita persists. Summer done, we wait for rain.
This year, better. Big ol’ revelation; I watered more. And funny thing, now that the entire yard doesn’t reek of surrender and despair, I find some tiny bits here and there quite beautiful, and in some ways more rewarding than the boister (efficient noun) of spring. I love the wilt and pink stains of my white tea rose. (I did want a “whiff of decay” in my wedding bouquet, after all.)
One of my little olive trees, the standard (i.e. bush size) ones in pots, has put out two entire olives. Here’s one of them, ripening.
One hydrangea still holds four little wine-colored blossoms, veined in something darker. Remains of the day, I suppose.
Yes, fine, all right, all this suggests a metaphor or two, maybe even a concept, but I’m stopping here to leave it to your imaginations. Have a wonderful weekend.
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