Sunday, July 29, 2018

Corycat Ignores Layla

What? You interrupt my 'nip trip.

 Yes, I'm on the table.

 So what?

This is so wrong on many levels. You'd better get down.

Silly dog. I say ha ha to your admonition and turn my back.

I continue to ignore you in special effects.

Saturday, July 28, 2018

Refreshing the Sundial Garden

I looked around the other day and realized that I no longer has any Back-eyed Susans (when I once had too many) nor any Purple Coneflowers. Of course, I should have done this early in the season when I could buy smaller, cheaper plants, but  I decided to get a few big ones and hope they spread.

The pollen dusted bee approves.

I also got some purple Speedwell, a pinkish-red salvia of some sort, and a pale coneflower, as well as some bee balm. All plants I've had in the past that are no longer with me. To garden is to know loss.

As I said, the bees approve.

The little area around the sundial seemed like a good place to plant my treasures. Layla agreed it needs some color.

What was there was some hardy Russian Sage, a little clump of dianthus, a few iris, and LOTS Thousand Acre Sedum, busily living up to its name. There was also Air Potato Vine, an invasive species from Africa/Asia (more about this awful weed HERE.)

There was a problem. The bed is  composed of some dirt spread on a pile of rocks. There weren't many places when I could actually dig a deep hole. 

Nevertheless, I persisted. It doesn't look like much with the plants spread about in the few spots I could dig and the sedum trodden down.

But with my gardener's eye, I see lush flowers spreading -- pink, and purple, white, yellow, and red. I see butterflies and humming birds visiting. Probably a heavenly choir is singing. 


If nothing don't happen.

And I remember the quote: "A perennial is a plant that, had it lived, would have bloomed year after year."

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

In a Summer Rain

An afternoon's gift . . .

Ring-patterns the small fish pond . . .

Drips from Moon-flower leaf . . .

Creation's sweet balm. . .

Be-jewels each new tomato . . .

Nature celebrates.