Lush lavender

Lush lavender, with spires of purple blossoms here and there, are the only sweet smelling plants in my garden that Japanese beetles do not munch.  Those iridescent, blue-to-green bugs pile onto the yellow Midas touch roses in a huge orgy; they mate on myrtle, overeat okra leaves, scarf down swaths of strawberry greens, and nibble cherry leaves into tin-punched art.  So, a quart of soapy water in one hand and a green garden glove on the other, I pluck bugs and dunk them in their bath.

I need to plant more lavender, I suppose.  Their resilience to bugs is inspiring.  The dusky green fronds remind me of the blue Aegean, whose islands each hold beauties to discover.  In the case of lavender, one swipe with the hand or brush of the leg summons a subtle scent sure to soothe.

My life needs more soothing and less stress.  Do you understand, friend?  Do you yearn for planting life events that inspire your soul, rather than surmount your day-to-day with energy-sucking endeavors?

What makes your day more joyful and less stressful, friend?  Perhaps a person to make your smile complete, like my Rustle?  Perhaps a story or poem?  Perhaps a movie or game?  Do you enjoy hiking to a rugged mountain peak or watching the sun's rosy rise sparkle on surf?

Let's make it a point to add something soothing to every day's adventures.

The mimosa's redolence

It is the last summer to enjoy the mimosa.  The tree hangs its limbs to the windows, which gather sweet perfume from morning to morning again.  Even in sweltering heat, the heady aroma seeps through the screens, intoxicating the inhabitants.  A window fan swirls the smell until the whole room seems thrust into that tree, like a clubhouse for which Joey is constantly advocating.

Our septic failed.  The travails of an old house, I suppose.  And, the health department has demanded sap to pay: trees near the distribution box, a perennial bed atop the distribution lines, a pear tree twenty feet away, a peach tree too close, my beloved magnolia, and - yes - the mimosa with her sweet-smelling puff-balls in full bloom.  What a shame such genocide is not as alarming as those occurring in other parts of the globe and across generations!

Do you have fond memories of a tree, friend?  One you climbed as a child or not so long ago?  One that shaded your searing days or moods?  A tree that delights your mind's eye to think about it?  Nature is quite agreeable at times and reminds us of the beauty we have beheld and will behold, yet.

So, for one last summer, I'll savor the joys of this limb-sprawling tree.  Joey will learn to climb.  Ezra will dance in a sprinkler under the shade of her archaic, compound leaves.  Russell will help me locate the best place to plant a future tree, for her starts are prolific!  And, I will admire the hummingbirds that flit between her blooms, while the mimosa's redolence bathes me.

May today give you a chance to enjoy a bit of beauty, too.

Kindled hope

Boughs bow, leaves flit, and sunlight simmers every tree it touches until it glows, gilded.  Light's receding touch yet lingers on the backporch, where shadows begin to overtake dappled day.  A thin thread of web shimmers as the breeze casts it into pooled sun; otherwise, board edges bear a bold blackness and even a bumbling borer bee seems swallowed by night.  Twilight looms, ready to weave a tapestry of stars, moonlight, and the pervasiveness of clinging darkness that coats us all on the inside.

Eyes closed, I sit in a movie theater when the main feature is about to begin.  The first note, word, or image nears every moment and I anticipate the adventurous journey unfolding.  Oh, if I could live like that!  And you, friend?  Do you seek to live each moment as if it were the beginning of something grand?

We can learn a lot from the sun, whose early rosy tendrils alter not, though the variables of the day do.  It still shines brightly, even when the clouds quilt the sky and keep it from our view.  And when we sleep - the dark tucking us in - the hope of the coming light remains.

Let such hope kindle in you, friend.