In The Watcher's Heart

A balmy 72 degrees F. and here I am in the garden out back, and I haven’t fallen yet.  Of course, I won’t fall because I’m extra careful about my safety, as I really am not keen on a trip to neverland.

After we set up the wheelchair for a place to rest if I needed it, we lifted a “Paten’ Aster out of it’s hole in a container, added some soil and replanted it at a higher level.  We have another aster to move to the White Oak where it will get morning sun and afternoon dappled shade.  It should do well there.

Then the raised lettuce garden bed will get a layer of compost and a succession of lettuce seeds will hopefully give us salads spring, summer and fall.  Winter density lettuce will be planted in late fall, as it will survive the coldness of our winters just fine in our upper south.

It’s serene this afternoon with gentle breezes flaring up at times to pushy gusts, then back down to gentleness as a  few birds tweet here and there.  The umbrella sways back and forth as wind lifts it’s canopy, and I sit here on the deck in a chair with two cushions added to lift me up to the height my pinched nerve prefers.  Cars drive back and forth one road over, and although they are difficult to ignore, I try anyway.

Daffodils that escaped the wrath of my shovel in the past when I was trying to eradicate them, are blooming; happy faces without a care in the world.  We found a three-foot-high spice bush under the dogwood tree, so we’re hoping the viburnums will shade it enough to insure it’s survival.  Only time will tell.

It’s blooming along with the four around the deck. Hopefully my male spice bush is still alive, or no matter how many blooms we see, there will be no lacquer red berries during the summer.

Vic has cleaned the gardens, although sooner than I would have liked, but what the heck.  I won’t complain.  It was a lot of work.  I worked on the inside of the house yesterday, organizing to free up space.  The day ended in exhaustion, as pushing a walker around over and over wears one out sooner that one would like. 

 I kept forgetting things, and was still getting back out of bed, even after midnight.  Then Austin was observed playing with an invisible playmate at my doorway, which turned out to be a spider on the prowl.

Sandwiches and chips on the back deck before dark will finish out this day of lovely spring weather.  You’re getting a hodgepodge of photos this time around of indoor and outdoor.

Maybe one of me looking absolutely my age.  What a threat.  When I was in rehab, some techs would call me beautiful, and I was wondering if my young age was somewhere in the room with me.  Silly me.

As I leave you, I’m looking at naked tree silhouettes in the yard behind us, standing out against a background of bright blue sky peppered with whisps of white clouds fading into light blue.  A beautiful site as the sun falls lower into the sky, causing the landscape to be in movement, as all plants sway to the will of the wind that is beginning to become quite pushy.  I think it’s time to call it a day.

I overworked myself yesterday, and am having trouble with one of my knees, so until I can find a knee brace that will work for me, I’ll be taking it easy this rest of the week.

I also find my hands are beginning to feel the wrath of the hard handles of my walker, which also aggravates my right elbow.  It’s so complicated, this falling apart in old age.  I need a glue gun and a wad of foam.

Tagua Nut carvings from the Darien region of Panama

Spice Bush

Violets

With the first beam of sun, 

the ice began to drip from the imprisoned trees 

and every fibre of shrub and tree to quiver with aspiration, 

as though a clod should suddenly find a soul.

      In the watcher's heart, too, had come another Spring, 

for once in time and tune with the outer world. 

The heart's seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. 

Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words 

upon some golden day when the little creatures 

of the air and meadow were life incarnate, 

from sheer joy of living? 

Who among us has not come home, 

singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, 

or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, 

in the midst of a pouring rain?

      The soul, too, has its own hours of Winter and Spring. 

~Myrtle Reed McCullough, Old Rose and Silver

European

 Starling

Common Grackle (Quiscalus quiscula)

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Saturday's Critters