A Handful of Sweet Nothings in the Midst of Weeds

dark grey sky

light grey sky

just below the horizon

the sun climbs

up into auburn clouds

as a peach drenched dawn

glows over the gardens

with the rainbows

in each of 

a thousand times ten

dewdrops touched by

the golden light

leaving sparkles

lingering on the landscape

disappearing slowly

in the growing warmth

of an April day

'Silverstream'

Amidst the all day spring showers that have already flooded some of the low dipping city roadways and byways, the younger tulip flowers are folded up tight against the dim lit sky as thunder rumbles across the heavens; but the oldies, way past their prime, are just letting it all hang out.  I'm caught in the middle of a five way love affair with those little beauties, and despite a sole dedication to promoting their survival in my gardens, those dastardly little beasties keep bailing out on me year after year...those ungrateful little twerps!  All of them that is, except the species tulips that seem to cling onto dear life with a passion despite the abundance of years they have been present in my gardens.

Silverstream,  was the prize choice to be stuffed into the ground early last winter, not for its low key beauty so much as for its promise of a whiff of fragrance to titillate the nose.  This tulip of many hues, like Josephs coat, seems to have a schizoid personality when it comes to color preferences.  It does not hit me squarely between the eyes as a WOW!!! tulip.  It's more like a dysfunctional extension of our family that in my gardens has forgotten how to emit even the slightest little poof of a scent...nada, zilch, niente, niks, zero, kapoot!     

Walking through the gardens today

I returned with

...weeds, that is.

When does this become fun, like you promised?

What the Hell?

Payback will be so sweet, BABYdoll!

Wild flowers sounds legit.  Weed flowers sounds, well...rather weedy and seedy, so why not talk about these obnoxious offenders whose mug shots are plastered on those Wanted More Dead than Alive posters all over my front and back yard.  Poor misunderstood cleaver plant, loving dubbed the velcro weed, with barbs lining its weak puny stems so it can climb up any unsuspecting neighbor, using its good buddy as a crutch to reach towards the sunlight.  Pull it and roll into a ball and it stays a weedy sphere of green as it sticks lovingly to itself.

Short, tall, it adapts to the current situation with ease and can love your wild flowers to death, literally, as it smothers them in deep shade.  Flowering way too early it will run you ragged trying to eradicate that sticky mass of mess before all those hundreds of teeny tiny white flowers becomes hundreds of teeny tiny sticky burrs.

Spring vetch is its accomplice, appearing on the horizon at the same time, with its cute little purple sweet pea like flowers and those multi-leaved delicate stems that curl around anything and everything on its way to covering every book and cranny of its existence in peapoddy green.  If those lovely purple flowers have matured into those petite little pods that have blacken and curl open, you can kiss your sorry arse goodbye...you're too late...you've missed the most important date of your gardening life; and next year you'll be meeting all its brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews for a jolly good weed festing nightmare.

The Boss, making sure mommy and daddy keep their noses to the grind stone until his playground is weedless and ready for this puppy to abuse and misuse.  Sometimes a human's life is the cat's paw when they're had by a dog who just knows he owns the whole works.