Lovely summer!

Gardening requires lots of water — most of it in the form of perspiration, I’d have to say.  But, if you live in these parts of the world where rain is infrequent and when it happens, it is only just a few drops and never ever the torrential rains of the south that I so love, then, it must also come in the form of some type of irrigation system… like our sprinklers!

  

And how I love sprinklers in the garden!  It is such a joy to sit in the porch and quietly watch how the garden gets saturated.  I can hear the garden singing—like a maiden in her shower, and the sounds are lovely sounds, and the voice is a lovely voice… 

...and it is like stepping into some sorts of a magical water world with its spray in my face and its mist erasing the outline of the garden and transforming it into some mysterious sorts of a place, foamy and smooth and green like glass over sunken roses and garden phlox. 

How suggestive the sounds of water upon roses and petals and green grasses!  They seem to fill the soul with the noblest of all music as the possibilities of life sweep the garden…

An especially serene dove has moved into the garden. Was the garden her birthplace perhaps?  Had she been born here and then decided she liked the place her parents had chosen as her place of origin, enough for her to make it her home?  I like to think that’s how it is.

Gardening is the art that uses flowers and plants as paint, and the soil and sky as canvas and my heart—my heart is the storehouse where each and every piece of art born in the garden is stored and kept so I can later retrieve them as my soul may need it.

I have a magical window too.  Each summer it gets covered in petals.  Roses want to climb in and evening light peeks in spreading little luminous dots on walls and floors inside.  Sometimes, I can even see the yellow face of the last sun reflected on the glass, and I see him smiling down at me; connoisseur of my secrets and deepest wants.

Looking to the outside from the inside is as magical too...

And all this magic is the product of summer. Beautiful summer.  Kind summer.  

I often hear people complain about the heat of summer; complaining about this and that about summer.  I would never understand this.  Even if it is uncomfortable sometimes, and I’d have to admit that camping in the summertime and living in a trailer is less than bearable, I still would have to prefer summer to winter…  any time, summer! My heart is a sunflower planted in the fields of summer.  How about you?  Do you love summer?