An evening walk in our neighbourhood , window shopping , gallery stops and admiration.
A driveway meets France.
( Except that this is probably the Hidcote Blue variety, a Zone 5/6 English lavender.)
( Except that this is probably the Hidcote Blue variety, a Zone 5/6 English lavender.)
Patches and swatches of colour and texture and scent.
I am drawn to mini masterpiece gardens that I barely noticed in the past few years, the weeks of scorching sun, parched earth, watering bans.
I am drawn to mini masterpiece gardens that I barely noticed in the past few years, the weeks of scorching sun, parched earth, watering bans.
Suddenly the green crescents and streets canvas rolled out under unpredictable Southern Ontario skies, are painted with bold purples, yellows, pinks, and whites , salmons, orange.
A vibrancy that startles.
I am resigned to my little gardening space, usually confirmed at this point in the season when wilted and scorched attempts hardly awaken plant envy, instead bring sighs of relief that I have less to water, mulch, water again.
Mourn the loss of.
So suddenly here I am , yearning for more space to brush up against a hedge of this and that, and drift in perfumed holiday.
Even the roses look like they belong here, naturally knit among daisies, coneflowers, coreopsis, stella d'oro daylily standard hardy fare.
Do birds take advantage of milder , balmy stretch of days? The cardinals, finch , chickadees, and robins meet and greet each other and us in any hour of this mellow July. Socializing , rejoicing, and making merry in the cool lush promise .
Where I normally sigh in faith at droopy shrivelling leaves of our tired lilac , spent and succumbing to constant thirst, glaring sun. I now approach with respectful quiet and wonder.
This lilac was just a scrawny yet to bloom symbol of putting down roots to our young family and first home .
When my husband and I fought to keep eyes open and legs moving, piling boxes and baby living into the rented moving truck in the quiet of night meeting morning, we both knew without much discussion that we couldn't leave it behind.
We laughed at the sneaky theft of garden bones, like the new owners were suddenly robbed of spring.
But those tender shoots that bowed in wind and snow held our hope too.
Of family seasons that come and go and fill the heart with violet gladness . Deliverance from winter 's grip in defiant blossom of redemption.
The lilac has flourished in the protected corner outside the kitchen eating area window. Passed countless times on the way to, in and out of the yard, our days. We divide the bounty of sweet passage into spring , bouquets filling the bedrooms, kitchen, family room, and powder room with such overpowering fragrant life.
I wrap up wet chilly bundles of faith for teachers , for friends that drop by.
I share the trust with 2 sisters friends. Women that I've come to know in these past pitch of years as chained to my soul. Bound in the tears and joy of marriage and children and community.
One dear love receives them as reminder of what was too, as the other is delivered through the grief and quiet grace of her left behind family. Hands no longer reaching over the fence to snatch our glory, my heart, my innocence.
Our lilac gives and gives this year. As time subsides the flow of tears and bleeding pain , it gifts life.
This spring we hosted a family of robins tucked in the arms of our humble offering.
But the nest is vessel for patient trust yet again.
What masterpiece of Creation startles us all in the hectic bounty of our backyard. Persevering in the wrath of dog and people traffic.
Yet another birth, large family hope joining ours.
Survival .
Grateful praise.
Painting chirping bold living on a subdued spirit.
A vibrancy that startles.
I am resigned to my little gardening space, usually confirmed at this point in the season when wilted and scorched attempts hardly awaken plant envy, instead bring sighs of relief that I have less to water, mulch, water again.
Mourn the loss of.
So suddenly here I am , yearning for more space to brush up against a hedge of this and that, and drift in perfumed holiday.
Even the roses look like they belong here, naturally knit among daisies, coneflowers, coreopsis, stella d'oro daylily standard hardy fare.
Do birds take advantage of milder , balmy stretch of days? The cardinals, finch , chickadees, and robins meet and greet each other and us in any hour of this mellow July. Socializing , rejoicing, and making merry in the cool lush promise .
Where I normally sigh in faith at droopy shrivelling leaves of our tired lilac , spent and succumbing to constant thirst, glaring sun. I now approach with respectful quiet and wonder.
This lilac was just a scrawny yet to bloom symbol of putting down roots to our young family and first home .
When my husband and I fought to keep eyes open and legs moving, piling boxes and baby living into the rented moving truck in the quiet of night meeting morning, we both knew without much discussion that we couldn't leave it behind.
We laughed at the sneaky theft of garden bones, like the new owners were suddenly robbed of spring.
But those tender shoots that bowed in wind and snow held our hope too.
Of family seasons that come and go and fill the heart with violet gladness . Deliverance from winter 's grip in defiant blossom of redemption.
The lilac has flourished in the protected corner outside the kitchen eating area window. Passed countless times on the way to, in and out of the yard, our days. We divide the bounty of sweet passage into spring , bouquets filling the bedrooms, kitchen, family room, and powder room with such overpowering fragrant life.
I wrap up wet chilly bundles of faith for teachers , for friends that drop by.
I share the trust with 2 sisters friends. Women that I've come to know in these past pitch of years as chained to my soul. Bound in the tears and joy of marriage and children and community.
One dear love receives them as reminder of what was too, as the other is delivered through the grief and quiet grace of her left behind family. Hands no longer reaching over the fence to snatch our glory, my heart, my innocence.
Our lilac gives and gives this year. As time subsides the flow of tears and bleeding pain , it gifts life.
This spring we hosted a family of robins tucked in the arms of our humble offering.
But the nest is vessel for patient trust yet again.
What masterpiece of Creation startles us all in the hectic bounty of our backyard. Persevering in the wrath of dog and people traffic.
Yet another birth, large family hope joining ours.
Survival .
Grateful praise.
Painting chirping bold living on a subdued spirit.
Posts
This is beautifully written. So descriptive. :)
ReplyDeleteHow beautiful. My husband loves plants and flowers in the same way too...they have a story to tell, and to share. Thanks for sharing yours!
ReplyDeleteI love the way that plants live for you and share your life. And I love this sentence: "I wrap up wet chilly bundles of faith for teachers, for friends that drop by." Your writing is the kind that yields new rewards with each re-reading. :)
ReplyDeletelilacs are my favorite - and yours certainly will not be forgotten, thanks to your magic with weaving words.
ReplyDeletethanks for stopping by today.
karin
Thanks for stopping by my blog, Deb. The English Lavender is gorgeous. Beautiful writing!
ReplyDelete