I have three graceful pale yellow tulips in the yard. They have the most wonderful scent. They’re particularly beautiful this year, but I can see they are starting their inevitable decline. This was shot yesterday, in between thunderstorms.
Nature is the best designer, don’t you think?
We had a doozy of a late-in-the-afternoon thunderstorm, by the way. Lights flickering, thunder, lightning, wind, torrential rain. We sat on the porch and watched it rage around us. That brings back memories of my childhood, where we often sought refuge from a storm on our porch. We’d sit there, with little drops of rain occasionally hitting us, watching the fireworks that are part of a thunderstorm, trying to see how long we could outlast the rain that would inevitably start to cover more and more of the porch until it was impossible to remain outside any longer.
I love a summer thunderstorm…though it’s not summer yet, officially. It felt like it yesterday.
The gorgeous bridal wreath spirea has blossomed.
I feel like a mom who is welcoming the return of her prodigal plants. “Welcome back,” I say. They’ve been gone for a long time. One by one, they return. The winter was especially tough. A mammoth tree limb fell in the middle of the large garden bed last September. Yet after all of that, here they are, willing to come back and be a part of the family once more.
I should be standing on the porch, my hair in a bun, an apron tied around my waist, eyes peeled on the horizon, waiting for any sign; a leaf, a bud, a blossom. It could be a painting in the style of Andrew Wyeth or Norman Rockwell.
Awaiting the Return of the Prodigal Plants. That’s the title.
Thank you for your kind words and wise advice yesterday. Treasures you are, all of you.