At times this land has wore me out. Broke my heart, blistered my hands. It’s not like flood or drought has brought devastation, which is all too real for ranchers and farmers. I am only a gardener, and it’s just some dead plants and scorched earth. But for several months every year I break up with it, admiring and wondering all the more the commitment of those tougher than I. When fall comes, though, the land and I, we always seem to get back together. Without even trying, it seems to know my heart and find a way back in. This year, with balmy air and water coming as if nature is sincerely trying to make up, I’m reminded why I ever loved it to begin with.
This is what this Christmas season looks like on my faithless earth by the lake. The picture up above is of the nearly dry flowers of a vine that covers the fence near the horse stalls. I don’t know what it is, but the blooms remind me of the art that adorned my mother’s Coty powder box.
My Sago Palm bloom as it, slowly, very slowly, opens. I know….see what I mean.
The spent sycamore leaves are a myriad of still lives on my lawn.
The Cinnamon Twist rose says this weather will do just fine.
The lettuces are happy too, and look like green roses.
Winter is, after all, citrus season, and my Meyer lemons are almost ripe.
The Flame Leaf Sumac and Eve’s Necklace bid a warm farewell.