Sometimes early in the morning I like to get up and carry my camera outside and walk among the plants on the patio. My eyes look for any minute changes, anything new from what I saw the evening before when I was out there.
It might be a new bloom, or veggies first appearing on a plant. It might be the way a flower leans against the container. Or how a plant looks etched against the blue bird bath.
The way a shadow is inked against the fence.
I love to study the design of a bloom when it first begins to show itself. The markings around the base.
I have always enjoyed studying the smallest bits of nature because I find it all so endlessly fascinating.
How the annual Blue Daze looks blurred next to the blue birdbath and the way the green stalks of the allium divides them so strikingly.
For me it is these tiny details that fascinate me about the garden. As though words dance in my head and a flower reaches out and grabs them for safekeeping.
The garden is my canvas and the flowers the paint strokes that I could not conceive any other way than by putting my hands into the earth and planting them there.
I can barely draw a stick figure so I certainly have no artistic skills. But the garden is different. I feel confident there. I have learned by trial and error and experience.
There is a stillness in the air in the early morning. Before the sun reaches down from the sky and edges over the fence.
It is the perfect time for me to be outside with my flower friends, with no human noise to ruin my mood.
It’s so quiet I can almost hear the whisper of the tree leaves and the stir of the breeze. It’s as though this time is carved out of all the other hours of the day just for me.
A tremendous gift that never stops giving and that I am forever grateful for. I look forward to it every single day of the growing season.
When surprises are like gifts from the flower fairy tucked into my garden while I sleep.