Sis and I thought we were taking a pic if eggs in a nest.
FLOWER is a pest.
There is action 24/7 here at Flower’s garden.
It’s hard to get any rest.
The frogs and toads are raising a ruckus out front to all hours.
Just when they get done with their revelry,
my blue friend starts pecking the window out back
It’s hard for me to be nice with so little sleep.
I guess that’s why Ricky ran away when I tried to pet him.
Flow is too old for her wild friends.
I may go take a nap, while its quiet.
There is no privacy at our house.
The bunnies had to stay in during Saturday’s storm.
Their friend came to look in on them.
I felt bad not letting this cute little guy in out of the rain.
He left after his quick check on his two furry friends.
We have such nosy neighbors.
I may have to put up some curtains.
I have strong feelings about these flowers.
The seeds were a gift from an artist friend decades ago.
Bill Troutman is no longer alive, but his poppies bloom each May to remind me of this wonderful man.
The blooms remind me of Bill, but the pods remind me of how people ruin things.
Opium can now be produced synthetically, by-passing the poppy.
Some places still use this plant’s sap to produce the drug.
Humans make the drug. Poppies are just plants.
They do what plants are supposed to do. Make flowers and seeds.
I love these poppies.
Poppies don’t make opium, people do.
This is called “Star of Bethlehem”, but it is not the weed that is native to North Carolina.
This is Ornithogalum arabicum.
Its blooms sit on a eighteen-inch stalk.
It has a lovely fragrance.
I love the shiny black eyes in the center.
Mine are planted near our walkway into the house.
It is a star in my eastern garden, though it comes from the Mediterranean.
I love my single Peonies.
I love their floppy petals and their dusty yellow centers.
But I adore the doubles.
Beauty can be a burden.
These blooms need staking.
They must be shaken lightly after rain to prevent broken stems.
I marvel at the loveliness of all those clustered petals.
Oh, the burden of beauty!
I thought that I had moved the fairy garden this spring.
I was tired of crawling around on the ground weeding.
It was too hard lying down to get those close-ups.
But you can’t move magic.
I stopped by the old tree today. Or maybe it called me over.
I felt it immediately, the magic.
Even through all the weeds and sticks and leaves, it was magical.
So down I went on my hands and knees,
crawling around that big old tree.
Cleaning out all those nooks and crannies between the roots.
Gently brushing away debris.
If one is lucky enough to find magic,
one needs to be wise enough to know
you can’t move magic.
Taco Supreme is an iris of mystery.
The light plays tricks with the blooms all do long.
Its beige turns to peach
and its burgundy turns to red…or is it purple?
What a color-shifter it is!
Is this a trick or a talent?
Taco Supreme is a surprise.