Are you sick of my flowers? Too bad.
I grow where I am planted quite well 10 months of the year. Unfortunately, Canada day seems to usher in a slight ache for home, humidity, trees, and water which acutely grows as the mercury rises.
I tried to "prep myself for success" this summer by allowing for little wonders to be savored and enjoyed (and by Jedi mind tricking myself with mantra's such as "It's not hot", "You are not suffocating". I am so almost brainwashed).
Some quiet wonders to enjoy in my microcosm:
The wind tends to blow a bit in our neck of the woods (such is the cost of living on a gully overlooking a canyon). Brad and the kids make the best of it with Sunday kite flying.
Of course, a few kites lost their way and were found on our roof and the roof of our neighbors, but Brad isn't afraid of heights so all is well.
Norah's silliness, drama, and energy is at an all-time high. I am exasperated by the time I put the other children to nap, which means: it's time to put her to work.
We work side by side to bring our fairy tale garden dreams to fruition (OK, me a little more than Norah, but mind you, Norah has plenty of fairy dreams in the garden). She lugs a purple watering can by her side, splashing and tipping water about on fresh compost and sizzling concrete. Little is left for the intended flowers, but a task is a task and she completes it.
I look on as she spins and leaps, falling and crashing with the intensity of a street car and the grace of a butterfly all at once.
I look forward to our time alone every afternoon. It is still and quiet. The nuances of our relationship and leisure settle on the steps of a silent siesta.
Details and delights swirl and stretch at our fingertips and toes as we slowly weed and sow. Sometimes the sun shines too brightly and we fad amidst our infant blooms. Often, merciful shadows blossom, growing in pearly swirls of smokey cliffs and bluffs. Mystery unfolds. Suddenly the sky splits, and soft encouragement falls.
In these moments we drink in the fragrance of the summer. We grow heady in the bathing of our organic fortress. We marvel at the tiny, translucent praying mantises which climb clumsily on our arms and bleeding hearts.
I am perpetually covered in earth and varying degrees of sun rash; but I am in love.
We enjoyed our annual round-up dinner with the
Smiths, wherein we digested gossip, laughter, and the goodness of an 11 year friendship.
I relished a dinner with blogging friends who I have been anxious to meet. Over red curry we shared, giggled and barely noticed we were the last customers at closing. I am grateful to have made such beautiful friends.
And at the end of the day, with the condensation from a lemonade sliding on my fingers, I escape to the porch with Brad and listen in silence to the dusky drama of our back yard.
