This Floating WorldI can report success; I am somehow growing basil from last year's seed. It is still unclear if the little bits of green will survive, as the temperatures are dipping low these clear nights. They should; I have at least two, and perhaps more to come.
The spinach should like the cool air more - there are two rows of that, now. The onions are in as well, in something of an experiment - they are somewhat late to go in, but I hope they will do well. Already the herb barrel has elevated dinner. The grass continues to grow.
Evidence of the season's turning abounds, now. The days have been clear and bright, with a soft hush thrown over everything in the high afternoon, echos from the torpid air that is surely coming for us. The twice daily walk through the woods is thickening, too, with the views becoming obscured behind ever denser green, pulling the focus ever closer. The raspberry canes under the trees by the uprooted stump are setting tiny fruit.
In my own little patch, the strawberries have gone riot, and the bed and yard both are dotted with little white flowers, each holding promise of sweetness.
Vieni, l'estate. Ci unisci.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.