Tuesday, March 23

vanilla steamer & garden speak

Sitting in the garden in bare feet, the wind blows with the hint of a soul of snow. Sunshine and mini daffodils; mockingbirds and honeysuckle sprouts. Nutmeg thyme and log-round side tables. Panting dogs who stay in the sun. Our garden is a small, private, secret place. We've grown white clematis over the fence in mountainous disarray to hide us. I've peppered the ground with purple alyssum and blue poppy seeds. We have left a small patch of grass liberally interspersed with clover, and will mow this with a push-mower the previous owners left. We have been here three-and-a-half years.

I know what the sunshine does in the backyard: how it climbs over the neighboring roofs and hits certain parts of our garden at certain times. I now know what to plant where, according to its sunshine likes and dislikes. I know which chairs will be in shade by 11am, and where to put the sun tea so it gets the maximum amount of soaking in the rays. I know that if I let tiny, sweet, fresh-sprouted sunflowers grow in certain spots, they will quickly cast skyscraper-sized shade on my lavender. I know that the goldfinches will come with their fledglings and make short work of those sunflowers, picking off the petals on the top of each huge bloom to make a space to perch.

Ours is a tiny backyard, but we love it much. (I think the feeling's mutual.)

On another topic: Pugly Pixel featured some of my Polaroids on her blog yesterday, which sometimes highlights her favorite flickr photos. If you care to, go over and have a look!