Created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and now hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.
About three days ago we welcomed a new guest. An Adolescent Chicken showed up to scratch in the garden and sleep in the garage, which is open right now due to the work are doing on it.
We don't know where she came from or how long she'll stay, but she's doing a great job of cleaning up the grubs in the garden. She's also hard on any plant that isn't well established, but what can you do?
My husband is also keeping an eye out for eggs among his tools.
My California Poppies are beginning to bloom in earnest, even as most of California has already been awash in waves of orange for weeks.
My yard has never done things the same times as other people's yards. Some of my flowers bloom earlier than my neighbors', some later, and I've never known why.
But after more than twenty years, we're used to it.
Here are my late blooming Daffodils. The one on the left is a double and the one on the right, although the picture doesn't show it well, has a soft salmon color cup.
I transplanted my three Peonies three days ago. Unlike many other plants, they transplant well. They've more than doubled in size and this one is getting ready to bloom.
Of course, my yellow Floribunda is ramping up. (As is the white.) All the roses lost ground last year with the irrigation mishap, and I expect that they won't bloom as fully as usual this year, but they are recovering nicely.
This is a group of odds and ends that the grandkids gave me (from the supermarket). Although you can't see them yet, it includes my Easter Lilies (which are going to be very late this year) and some Daisies.
The Orange Tree is loaded with blossoms. The whole yard smells wonderful! I hope we get an orange this year.
Poppies!
The Wild Iris
- Louise Gluck
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
And last, but by no means least, a Dutch Iris.
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