The rains moved out just before we arrived at the garden this morning. It’s becoming a theme, although now we come prepared. I am still not back in sync after our travels this past weekend, and after April, really, if we’re being honest here. I am so behind on everything, everything – to the point of wondering if I can realistically get caught up on some of it. F is protesting the garden visit this morning as I’m rushing her through breakfast. I almost cave.
I can do another load of laundry if we stay, and fold the two loads on the bed right now. I can send out a half dozen overdue emails. I can write a blog post. I can start packing for our camping trip. I can finish unpacking from the last trip.
There are dozens of things I could do in the hour stretching before us, not the least of those things is the promise of the end of the protest and the subsequent whining. I do not give in.
She transforms on cue, as do I. I can only do so much, but I can do this. I can walk with my camera and my umbrella and her umbrella until we reach the irises because they are only here for a short time and the lilies are coming. Everything is purple and blue and tumbling over itself. There is a purple pinwheel flower that is emerging from tiny yellow buds that look like pale raspberries, feathery. The alliums are exploding around us, and those early roses.
Somewhere there are rows and rows of peonies, but we don’t have time to visit them. There are a million other things calling my name, and we’ve seen what we’ve come to see, and it’s perfect.
