“I have of late,—but wherefore I know not,—lost all my mirth“(Hamlet). I still blame COVID and its insidious roll into every aspect of life, but lately I’m not sure if that’s the root cause for my lack of mirth. There are days when I see one headline and I’m flattened by only six words. Those 50 Senators, that Russian despot, guns powered by young men, poverty and hunger and oppression mixed with ignorance and hopelessness while most of just want to escape to Margaritaville. This level of desperation is hard to hold on to and yet, it permeates many avenues running in and out of my view.
For this fleeting moment, I am reminded that there is another route. It is not too difficult to find, if you put down the newspaper and shut off the pundits. If you look up to the blue overheard and take that wide and wondrous expanse in. I invite you to stroll through my yard, to leave behind the world’s obscene pile of troubles for just a few minutes, and take a long look at perfection. Perhaps take this as an invitation to breath too.
Lupins can take over a garden, crowd out lesser aggressive plants, but I don’t care, I just love them and their spunky spikes. I call this little lady Lucy. I almost killed her last summer when I moved her, rather carelessly, thinking she was too far in the corner, but after several touch-and-go weeks, she eked back to life. This summer she is popping purple and making me smile, yeah, I love that sassy perennial. Of course, there is nothing but appreciation for our silly blue heron who graces our back garden with cheer.
There are two gifts granted by every Fuchsia. First is the plant itself, with delicate, multi-colored blossoms, swinging about in the simplest of breezes. Second are the hummingbirds who find their way to its nectar, darting and dashing about with all the urgency that their role as pollinators demand. Saturday morning on our front porch is the best start to any weekend thanks to the lively nature of such a popular and spectacular plant.
Our front garden treats us from early Spring Daffodils and Tulips to June Iris. These yellow beauties stand regally. As bikers struggle up our beastly hill, I imagine one glance at these showy flowers, and they are reinforced to make it just a few more miles upward.
Of course there is nothing quite like free flowers, is there? We have our share of those all over the yard, from dandelions to buttercups. It seems there is always something yellow mixed in the green fields and roadside grasses all around us; luckily our lawn is treated to many of these delights as well. I love the wild nature that encroaches upon the pristine.
Seems my every post these days is ranting in the same direction: to hell with as much as you can shed or pry yourself away from, and find a way to keep remembering the calm stuff. The good fight will be there tomorrow, and you can get back to it.