Ripples On the Surface

I have been sleeping for the past two months. The sleep of the dead and dying. Being sick is my full time job now. It demands my attention. Spring passes over the mountain top in the tapestry and texture of a mountain meadow as I slumber.

Green is a color again amid the march of the Mayapples.

A healthy sprinkle of the blue Phacelia purshii is now growing in my garden. It will only spread more from here. One more ripple in the tapestry.

Amid growing trees and shrubs that are gaining ever more presence and definition in a wild cultivated garden.

Is the garden finished? Perhaps. There could also be decades of tinkering left to tend to.

The Handiwork Of Bulbarella Stinze

Is sprinkled with blue glitter generously throughout. Click on a picture for a walk with the daffodils.

Spring In The Wild Cultivated Gardens

A walk in magic when the native stinze joins in. Click on a picture for the slide show.

 

Fothergilla On A Different Day

 

The Fothergilla

 

A Look Up My Driveway

It is lumpy bumpy right now. I need to rake it smooth. That last gully washer washed it good. It needs to be top dressed and lightly regraded. Over the years a lot of it has washed down the drive. It is turning into an actual gully.

Today it is spring. The air is warm. The gardens are stirring to life. The gardener is back to work. The driveway can wait for another day.

In A Gentle Spring Snow

A quick walk to the mailbox.

It has been snowing steady, off and on, light and heavy, fat fluffy flakes and round pellets of sleet since yesterday afternoon. It sticks and melts and sticks again, a late season snow.

I spent the morning doing the ink version of the tax forms. They are signed, sealed with imaginary money inside and ready for a Monday morning departure. I need to get serious about eating more food from the roadside vegetable garden. If I only had a chef.

Along the scenic byway there is a bicycle riding through the forest trees.

And purple icing on the hill beside the drive.

Purple snow, yes, this is for real, light melting snow on blooming creeping phlox. A rather surreal and fascinating sight I don't recall ever seeing before on the return trip from the mailbox. So much of life's beauty is ephemeral.

It takes the memories of bones to slow the ephemeral down.

When I'm 64

Will you still need me 

Will you still feed me 

When I'm 64?

We went for a walk in the gardens before the winter storm. 

That there would be proof of daffodils. Click on a picture for the slide show and wander. The daffodils were rising.