HONEYSUCKLE'S OUT!!

 

Per

                         Perfect palette of color in the lawn-wide Fairy Dell.

Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific;
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there;
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows;

And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

Walt Whitman   "When Lilacs Last . . .'

We're still in the mud-stage from last sunset's quick, fast Gully-Washer---so dark, I hurried out to put the cans out, then a bright hour and a half before the real dark fell velvet blue.   But this morning, I noticed four clumps of tulip greens---the faithful old things were here when we moved in, and that's 29  years ago. Last year they didn't even bloom, but we left them there in hope, sorta like a faithful old dog who's outlived his huntin' days, but still deserves a place by the fire.

And Miss Effie, the nesting flamingo who sits at the foot of the BIG TREE, will soon lay a few tiny pastel eggs in her nest, in honor of the Season. She's been with us since three houses ago. You DO know that flamingoes sitting on a nest are NOT TACKY, don't you? Just wanted to be sure.

And all over the beds, small remnants of Used-to-Be narcissus and jonquils and hyacinth are peeping out---remnants of impulse grabs at the check-out of many a long-ago wait-in-line a the grocery, the fillin' station, and other places that stick the pretty temptations RIGHT THERE while you're waiting and have your wallet out anyway---those bulbs dried in a sack in the fridge drawer to give them the whole renewing-cycle of a REAL year, if they're lucky, and tossed toward the mulch pile in June and missed, if they weren't. 

 The moss is a verdant blanket of velvety hues, all across the back garden, and with all this lovely weather lately, REAL Spring  promises to be right around the corner. Before we know it, the grapevines will be sending out their little seeking fingers and the Fairy Dell is already filling with the gleamy leaves of millions of little purple violets. Something about hundreds of yellow dandelion blooms scattered upon that moss among the dainty purples---the color wheel knows what it's doing---perfection.   The Winter-crimped carpet of ivy is already beginning to green up and shine, and even a couple of bushes have either retained lots of fresh leaves, or they're just jumping out to get a head start.

I'm headed out now to shear off a few limbs of the Honeysuckle visible from Leah's high window---it's waving in the constant breeze out there snugged up with the wind chimes, and perhaps I'll pick a blossom or two, put my tongue to the honey, and for a moment, be EIGHT again, lying in clover, tasting the hot Summer sweetness of those years---dusty feet,  scabbed knees and all.