I don't have many rosebushes but this pink one has been a consistent October bloomer. It is fragrant and bright enough to add that bit of happiness to my yard. The threats have been coming for a while now. Menacing thunder clouds have been looming large on the horizon...But it was all bark and no bite.
I've almost forgotten the smell of rain...the earth's essence wafting into your senses when the first drops fall. Brings back a cloudburst of memories-- of other seasons of deluge... Another ordinary day--- my winged visitors still refuse to spread their wings for my camera. I can almost imagine their conversation. Says the brown one to the white one...Psst! (lest She hears). Under no circumstances must you spread those pretty wings of yours. If you do that you're done for! It's enough that she hovers around us with that whatchamacallit. If she sees us with our wings spread out we'll be able to get her off our backs!
Sigh...responds the other. Wha...?! I should've been the one sighing! Till yesterday the soil was bone dry. I got down to do some weeding but the afternoon sunshine can still be punishing so not much was done. But I did gather tiny grass blooms and headed back to the house. The kitchen table is embellished by weeds! It'd drizzled at night. I wished it wouldn't rain during the day...but if wishes were horses.....It drizzled some, rained some, the whole day! The roses were dotted with droplets... But by late afternoon (it gets dark early nowadays) they'd almost doubled over, weighed down by a steady drizzle.
Suddenly, the temperature has become much cooler and for the first time,I wore a sweater today.
Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manley Hopkins
The first flowering shrub I planted on our land
Every flower is a soul blooming in Nature.-Gerard De Nerval
Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? -Henry David Thoreau