Tuesday, May 31, 2016

It is so nice to be back, safe and sound, after our long journey to South Florida.  Back to our rained-down little white cottage and to a mess of a garden, where weeds have gone rampant in just those few days we were away...  

I always imagine weeds watching out for me, hiding behind bushes, or from under the grown, talking among each other in hushed little voices as I go about the garden pulling those braves one who have dared come out, out of my garden forever.  The minute they don't see me around, they'd all go out... one by one, and throw a loud party.  All of their instruments will come out, whistles and tambourines, and musical instruments come to light, while the weeds sing and dance to the beat of their music. 

So that's what I've been doing this morning... pulling weeds, and throwing away all those precious potted annuals that didn't make it without my constant care... sad, but I'm learning to move on, to not be bothered by the little things in life, as much as I used to.  It is a happier, more effective way of living.  It is a happier life indeed, not having to worry about the little, unimportant things, and I need to take this philosophy to the human sphere too, because the little garden of my heart is quiet a mess too these days, with worries about my ageing parents and all those people I love... I worry too much because I love too much.  But in the depth of my soul I die a little bit with each worry.  I harvest too much inside me, and that abundance have always hurt me exceedingly.  I am learning.

I LOVE HOW Nature keeps a timer all of its own... there's a time for everything under the sun, so it's been said, and each wildflower knows this too... they know exactly when is their time to shine and their tine to rest.... right now, it is the time for the daylily and iris to shine, and they are all in bloom, pervading the garden with gentle delicatessens and precious loveliness...

The yellow golden ragwort wildflowers of early spring are done, but I've kept a reminder of them as mementos of another year gone to memories, until the following spring...

These days, it definitely is rose bouquet season around here.

I prefer to leave my roses in their bushes, and only bring them inside when they're passed their glories...  it is my way of enjoying them for an extended, longer time...

If I bring them inside while at their prime I will only enjoy them for just a few days, but if I let them be, the joy will last longer....

It is safe to bring some roses inside these days now... 

I don't have many tea roses as I used to back at the house in the roses, because it is hard to cultivate them here in the humid, hot south, but the Knock-out roses are something else.   They're the queens of the south and are so prolific here, it does not matter how much you take of them or how hard you go with your pruning...  you just cut, knowing that soon you'll have yet another bout of showy re-bloom.  

These tiny, perfect buds of the prettiest pink little roses are something else...  

Again, not the tea roses I am so fond us, but these rose bushes, low, and expanding in nature, are brimming with thousands upon thousands of little roses in the sweetest of delicious pink.  Dozens of miniature, perfect pink roses in just one stem... they are quick repeat bloomers too, and fungal disease resistant, and I can always fill many vases, without the guilt.

Sometimes, when everything is quiet in the garden and no bird's song is to be heard, there are times when I hear an unidentified sound... a song? A wail? A call?  And it's the 'wee-wee' cry of a baby fairy.  And sometimes, I'm rush to think it may be the squirrels up above the canopies, or the voice of the feral in the brambles or the baby rabbits in the deep of the woods, but today when I was standing very close to the woods, I heard it again—the 'wee-wee' wail, and when I looked up to see if I could identify where it was coming from I saw it.... a black bird, or some type of a black, common bird? 

These are long days, and somehow they're still too short of days for the soul who loves the heat-swelled hours of summer and the perfume which cling to the walls of my cottage and the walls of my soul in sweet moments... my heart write nothing except sentences full of sunshine and the scent of the privet flowers and warm rain. I drink green juices and have a salad for lunch and write, then take pictures, then work some more, and sometimes, I get to sit in the quiet garden and read, and listen to the birds that sing restlessly over-emerald shrubbery and sapphire skies; and keep on waiting and hoping upon their Creator for their livelihood. 


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