“She” means me. Loving flowers is a cliché, and as someone who normally marches to the beat of a different drummer, it is a little embarrassing to admit how much I love flowers. After all, who DOESN’T??
Oh well. I am 62 years old, and I can say and do (almost) whatever I want. Of course there are consequences to one’s choices, but I don’t see any downside to admitting that I love flowers.
One morning, the local crew of superior weed-eaters showed up at 7. In my opinion, they could have waited a week. However, these guys are popular, and we wanted to get on their list sooner rather than later. And if they come early in the day on a day that isn’t hot, there is less fire danger.
BUT THE HILLSIDE STILL HAD FLOWERS!
So, I was out there at 6:30, doing something I NEVER do: picking wildflowers. The Fairy Lanterns were so good this year. What if we weed-eated (weed-ate?) too soon and there won’t be enough seeds to bloom next year??
At least I have my photos.
Maybe they’ll last longer on the front porch.
How about from the other angle?
Or some close-ups:
Okay, how about seeing them straight-on:
Let’s observe a moment of silence for the end of spring, the demise of the the wildflowers behind my house and everywhere. . .
. . . sigh.
2 Comments
We agree with you completely Sharon!! Not only wildflowers await at MK but also closer to home!! Tom and Linda
Don’t forget, untouched fields of wildflowers await you up the hill, with not a weed-eater in sight!
Comments are closed for this article!