So...it is what it is.
Garden pictures are hindered by a struggle with those zombitizing swampy blood suckers with wings that the south never fails to endlessly produce each warm summer day; and the writing's a little hurried. So be it. I'm working on catapulting some old baggage into that abyss of who cares and reintroducing myself to myself when I'm back to myself.
A new batch of cicadas is in town. The big ones...the ones that leave exit holes in the earth from half an inch and up. Do you think they know I'm in love with Phillip Glass tunes...these little male composers of music with repetitive structures? I do believe an entire day of one Phillip Glass composition repeatedly repeating would drive me into white rabbit territory, while the cicada's song drives me a little less than half bonkers.
Thousands of these guys expanding and contracting that part of them that belts out the same uproarious chorus over and over and over again from sunrise to sunset, proving once and for all time that no amount of ear-splitting pandemonium will cause the dead to rise, otherwise, they would be surging out of their graves by the multitudes at this very moment.
Glassy wings of transparency etched with strengthening veins, these little tykes with buggy eyes emerge from their underground world of a few or many years, depending on which family tree, for their last tango in Paris. From dark into glorious golden light we all know when they have arrived.
Choosing not to scream bloody murder, I just slip into that quiet place two rows down to the left of that thingamajig in the far right corner of my mind, and toil in blissful solitude amongst the gardens and winged chaos. When I do come up for air I'm reminded once again that nature is indeed a fickle spirit with sometimes no rhyme or reason whatsoever for life. Isn't that grand!
I'm having one of those rest of my life experiences in which my weekdays are twelve days long and my weekends end after two hours. I seem to be hurtling towards oblivion at astronomical supersonic speeds and when I try to drag my foot a little to slow myself down it catches on fire and I'm Haley's comet. Figure that one out if you can.
That time of summer has arrived when gardening chores have become gardening CHORES. When that last tree seedling and that last weed can never be found. When I'm loosing my battle against the ants for territory. When sitting on the back deck with a cup of Lady gray tea beside a bowl full of biscuits and blueberries and whipped cream, and a good book opened to page ninety three remains just a dream in my weary noggin.
But maybe, just maybe...
this year will be different :)
Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly in perfect beauty
An older one a little ragged around the edges
Another one not perfect, but still a creature of graceful beauty
Waiting for the corn to grow taller and anchor better in the moist soil
Watermelon vines looking for the street
huge honeydew melon leaves.
The basil's lost in there somewhere.
Larger yellow moons and smaller yellow stars
Moon and Stars Melon
Foam Flower leaves
Blending into the environment,
dragonflies are one of the most vicious insects in existence
when it comes to eating-
oftentimes catching and devouring their meals in flight.
They have an endless appetite.
A deadly killer camouflaged in beauty.
Spicebush Swallowtail on Joe Pye Weed
Until next time we meet-
forget me not ;)