Spring Full Flower Moon
Dicentra in deep pink, iris in deep purple, tulips in yellow, red, orange and purple, daffodils in many combinations of yellow and white, plus, amazing for this time of year, lilacs, fill out the full flower moon here. The moon’s light, silvered and slight, gives no presence for the flowers so they close up, invite no visitors. When I walk in the garden at night, under the flower moon, its namesakes here on earth sleep, perhaps dreaming of bright days, bees and warm breezes.
Emma has recovered almost to her old self, and I do mean her old self, not even her mature self. Her old self is wobbly, a bit eccentric in motion and attention, but she enjoys the sun, a small dinner and a warm spot on the couch. So do I. Life is a conspiracy against nature, wonderful and delightful while it dances and spins, mocking the tendency of all things toward chaos. That it exists at all is a miracle.
A good day, productive and educational. All except for that sting on the posterior. A bit of humility administered by an aging worker bee.