Rainy are my days or the peas trees are in.

 Happy is my garden.  It has been raining all week long.  The rain started on Sunday.  Just in time to rescue us from two weeks of smoldering humidity.  Our nights are sweet and cool again.  But I am never satisfied with perfection.  I long for the hot days of summer.  We are getting the pool up and running this year.  The kids are so excited it makes you smile just watching them as they watch the water and chemicals go in.  Just thinking of watching them, we will have to be extra vigilant.  Should I place latches high up on doors.  Or at least latches with bells/noise makers attached.  Pools of water and children equal thoughtless attraction.

Oh, but my garden, I planted peas yesterday.  There were a few hours stopping of the raining.  I honestly thought that it had stopped so I got my four little peas trees off the porch garden and transplanted them into my, whatever-I-wish-to-plant-this-year, garden.  It poured last night.  I planted them on a hill so this morning when I checked, they were still alive.  I am ecstatic.

The Beautiful Green Days

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All winter long the mad gray giants raged, scouring and scratching at the ice covered sky.  Their brittle bone like fingers broke often.  With sharp snaps one piece after the other would go crashing down to the frozen earth.  There, adding their music to Winters. 




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Green is the color of the trees now.  They are growing fat too, on sap, and have covered their hands in soft leafy gloves.  No longer raging, they gently sweep puffy white clouds across the blue-blue sky.  It is the hue that covers everything, even the rocks that live in wet locales. 





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Early springs' favorite color is the many shades of green.  She dyes unchecked and I spin to see it all, missing twice as much as I catch.



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Green is my Garden

Away with you Broom, Mop and Bucket.  I am finally through cleaning and setting up the porch garden.  It is going to be amazing this year.  Now I have time to work on the yard. Unless rain falls soon, it is going to be blotchy.

The vegetable garden needs to be tilled.

My friend a fellow amateur gardener has promised to come by today, with his plow.  Green is erupting from the most unusual places.  Yet some spots still seem frozen.  It must be the lack of rain. 

  Spring is here but winter isn’t completely gone.  It is mind-boggling how the seasons change, as if rolling one over the next.

What am I going to grow this year?  Last year only my tomatoes and sweet peppers were successful.

  I am thinking of flowers, wild flowers.  I want strawberries too and maybe a small batch of tomatoes, just because.  But first I must turn over the soil.

 

Spring, the season I awake or wake up and live

flower girl

I can hear it clearly.  Spring is, singing for me, calling to me.  Completely distracted by the sounds, I am being pulled away from here.  I will unfold myself and get up.  I will stretch the restlessness from my bones as I walk out to meet her.  The song she sings is about new beginnings.  It awakens every sleeping thing in her path.  She supplants the dead.  This freshness is all I have hoped for.  Winter took my breath away.  Spring gives it back.  She awakens me, to me.  And now calls me back upstairs.  I have gardens to wake up, and seeds to plant.  I will smile all season long, like a hibiscus