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.