The spring garden...

I can never get tire of living here...

 

And strolling through here

 

Or sitting here and smelling these

 

 

Or feeling all the feelings that this garden makes me feel…

 

 

 

A mourning dove momma has built her nest on a branch of the grapevine covering the porch, and it sits right in front of the door from where I go out and in at all times of day; and it rests precariously low and unstable and I can never understand why these beautiful birds would chose such places to bring up their brood.

I have bought another yellow iris, and I have planted it right in front of the big angel in mom’s little garden, although I’m afraid I won’t be seeing it flowering this spring.  I can hardly wait to see this part of the garden decorated in dots of yellow iris sunshine joy, and I am still trusting that the one yellow iris clump I pulled out of a neighbor’s yard last year (with her permission) would still bloom someday, for I hadn’t seen this one bloomed; thus, I can’t tell where exactly I might had planted it. 

It is the same case with that beautiful iris in the loveliest of blush color, which the Fisherman gifted me last spring.  I can’t seem to remember where exactly I had planted it and I only know it must be among all those other irises which put plenty of healthy leaves, but won’t flower.  It has always been quite the mystery to me why some irises growing in the same bed would bloom, while others won’t.  It is my guess that it has nothing to do with the amount of sun they get, for there are some sitting in dappled sunshine under masses of roses, still blooming and putting forth beautiful flowers.