Rain

October 4—rain, delightful rainy day.  A pitter-patter on my windows all day long, and all throughout the day the sky remained ashen and the earth leaden with a hushed, nostalgic feeling.  I stepped outside, and all of a sudden, fall arrived at my front porch…

 

Rain fell, leaves swirled and the wind sung the song of autumns...

And it seemed like it was only yesterday when the house got painted in June, and the sun was shining and the weather was sweet and yellow butterflies looked like flowers flying through the warm air.   

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

And how fast everything came and went this year, how quickly life strolled through my hours making new memories, and leaving me so full of questions to ponder about, to stretch out my arms to the heavens in thankfulness and in an earnest desire to leave a trace of wings in the air… 

The house in the roses

We were away travelling this past week.  The entire week I attended meetings, met new people and ate at some awesome restaurants, always yearning secretly for my favorite place in the entire world—home.  Then, the following morning after we came back, the first thing I did was to go out into the garden.  And what a breathtaking view, and what surprise waiting for me there... for the entire garden was in bloom!  

Every rose bush had come into flower; so many roses as I had never seen since we moved back, as if some angel had decided to come by and worked his magic all around just to amaze me.  How beautiful, and how plentiful had Nature rewarded me!

I made a huge bouquet with the Chicago Peace...

And brought it in!

On Monday, I removed the final lilies from the garden; droopy as they were, and unable to put forth a single flower throughout the summer, and which had become sort of an eyesore to me, and on Tuesday it was the Mexican Petunias around one of the fountains in the rose beds along the bedroom wall.  I love these little flowers, but they had become too rowdy and overgrown and had stopped blooming.  I also wanted to free up some space in that area and just let the roses be the focal point.  So that’s done.  

On Tuesday, I decided it was time to work on the roses that have become wild and, finally, mustering enough courage and the strength necessary to accomplish the job, I removed the first one.  This 13 year old rose was something else to dig, with roots almost with the width of a man’s neck—not exaggerating.  Roots had to be severed from the midsection, which means that part of it still remains in the grown and most probably the Dr. Huey part of it will resurface again.    

Our mornings and evenings are cold and swift, with beautiful sunny midafternoons. There is a magical type of a harmony everywhere I look, and the sky has a different luster to it.  Trees, in the distance against the greyish background of the mountains have acquired the colors of coriander, turmeric, pumpkins and crisp apples, and I almost bought the sweetest little kitten the other day.  Tillie was her name.    

  

Roses

Roses—I just have to talk about them. Again, and again talk about how every bush in my garden is in bloom all over again, and how lovely, and how intense the coloration this time; even more vibrant and vivid than on that first precious bloom of early spring.

The Unicorn roses have acquired the color of poached eggs and apricot reserve and the Chicago Peace are ballerinas in tutus in two shades of pinks.

The Paradise rose have been gifting me with so many blooms; enough to make bouquets to bring inside…  

This new outburst of loveliness has gotten me excited and much decidedly on planting more roses next spring.  At some point, early this past spring, I decided to forget about roses; to not replace them, not plant them... forget about them, but my love of them has rekindled somehow, and it has revived with this new show of late summer loveliness, and I guess that instead of waiting as I’d usually do for our local Home Depot or Lowe’s to bring their roses in May, I will be ordering them from a real nursery this time—in January, they’d told me.  I order them in January and they will care for them until spring; until they are ready for planting.  

Thus far, I see about five new spaces where I could fit new roses in, and I have another three bushes I will be taking out for sure.  Oh it feels so good to dream, and make plans!

Do you love roses?  "The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change: Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is".  Paulo Coelho.

My little world

My little flowery world these days is a mixture of quiet moments, sunshine, crisp mornings, autumnal colors and rose petals.

 

The Tatarian Maple tree has gone all yellow and burnt brown and I love how its big toasted color leaves tumble down ever so softly in the hands of afternoon breezes; filling its surroundings with autumnal jewels against all shades of greens. 

The roses are loving this cooler weather too, and again, they have swollen up with new precious buds of pinks and creams, whites and reds.

I supposed these are to be the last ones of the year—and all of a sudden as I write this I’m reminded of how lovely my winters in the south were, and how the garden kept gifting me roses throughout our mellow December days.  “My Christmas roses”—I used to call them.

I am pleased, and much grateful about this outpouring of roses from my Paradise bush, for finally, so it seems, it had gotten acclimatized and, right at the end of summer has puffed up and put new branches filled with some lavender glories.  

It rained the other morning for a little bit. Bountiful, shimmering light moved above everything after it was done, and the landscape, vivid with raindrops seems brighter and greener and lovelier.  

As the day progressed, so did the sun became stronger and the garden brighter, and everywhere you looked you saw the sparkles of late summer, and autumn, and the miracles left behind by rain... brighter colors, and a suppler, livelier land. Every little creature and winged dweller of the garden loved it, and they all felt so happy!

Grapes are almost ready to be harvested, and I shall get to them soon, before the birds do. 

 They're so sweet and good!  And these ones, are seedless!

I’m afraid my little “Frog Pond” is ready for the long winter slumber, just as the garden is beginning its rest too, and my little frog friend here is closing sleepy-yellow-eyes already.  

And that's it for my beautiful Elephant Ears too... they are considered an annual plant around here, for they will not survive our winters, and will never get to grow as big as the ones I used to have in our  southern gardens at the little white cottage. I have never removed their rhizomes before for replanting and I don’t know if they will still be good next spring, so I’m thinking that most probably I will have to get new ones if I want to keep seeing them in the garden every year.  I love them so much! 

Owls are ruffing feathers and beautiful wings as they get comfortable around the garden for their long winter sleep, and I'm not ready... oh I'm not ready to say goodbye to the garden and its glories yet! 

Summer is gathering up her skirts of glories and, like a dream, is gliding away.  Slowly, but certain, I see it fading into the nothingness of another year, as it lends us the graces to be able to fold another page of our history into the drawers of our time.  

And as I see a last vision of gathered petal skirts and sun-kissed robes at the bend of the horizon, a tinge of sadness fills this old soul.  It is hard to let go.  And although my heart awaits the colorful days ahead with its dancing of leaves and crispy breezes, it insists in retaining whatever is left of that, which is living us... clinging to it as if I could in any possible way make it part of my soul.  I am a sentimental, and always will.