Popped Bubbles

There’s a garden out my front door.  It's right under my nose, but it seems far away over the next horizon of wishful thinking.  Dog days of summer have slowed the chaos to a stop and maybe in a month or two it will be under control enough to be enjoyed in the cooling of autumn. 

So how long does one hold onto nothing, before they let go; before they throw up their arms, toss out lost hopes, flop into the rusty deck chair and vegetate with an iced drink until the first snowflakes of winter tease their nose.

I’m tired this season and thoughts of what might have been have turned to dust and the storm of disenchantment takes my breath away.  I feel the reminders around me that a fool’s paradise and tangibility don’t mix; but maybe…maybe this trip is all it’s about, and the end is…well, the end is just that…THE END.

So...

I just keep going,

and going,

and going.

Pretty Ladies in Skirts of Many Colors

Smiley Faces in a Row

Repose

Cardinal and Joe Pye

Rays of Sunlight through Mist of Garden Sprinkler

Essence of Cat in Bird Bath

Neighbor's la piece de resistance