Friday, June 10, 2011

Overheard

"I have hundreds of them--they spread everywhere," she boasted.

I don't know how that is even possible.  Every year I start from scratch.  Come spring, I see whole acerages covered with them, but not here.  All I want is a small bunch--just one--I'd be happy.

The bold, brassy poppy.  Red crowns, licorice-coloured faces dancing joyously in the sun, bleeding passion into the air.  My place needs that energy.  I long to have them grace my gardens, but no, it seems it's not to be.

Sadly, I move on, making do with roses.





The wild profussion of spring in Maine takes my breath away.













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