It feels like a butterfly day.

WM Yellow and PurpleLooking through my images I found this butterfly from last summer.

I can’t wait to get back home and start putting my little garden back together. Of course I can’t plant anything much until next spring, but I can wait. I’ll have the birds all winter and that will be heaven.

WHAT YOUR GARDEN IS REALLY TALKING ABOUT…

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(I know this little story is all kinds of a mess grammatically speaking, along with all kinds of other improper treatment of the english language…but you know me…when the mood strikes, watch out…I’ll write anything. Apologizing in advance…)

I WAS QUITE PLEASED WITH MY JOB IN MY NEW GARDEN HOME, THE GARDENER CALLED ME IMPORTANT, BUT HER VOICE HELD A “TONE”.

SETTLED IN, I DISCOVERED A POT WITH A SQUIRREL CLINGING TO IT…I DECIDED TO ASK IF THE POT EVEN KNEW IT.

“HEY-HO LITTLE CLAY, WHO’S THE FRIEND ON YOUR HEAD?”

“A COMPLETE STRANGER TO ME,” THE LITTLE POT SAID.

“DO YOU CARE THAT IT’S FEET MIGHT BE DIRTY AND YUCKY?” 

“NOT A BIT,” SAID THE POT. “I COUNT MYSELF LUCKY.”

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I QUESTIONED AGAIN. “YOU NEVER KNOW WHERE THOSE FEET MIGHT HAVE BEEN.”

“SQUIRREL FEET ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO A FLOWER…WITH THEM COME DEMANDS, AT LEAST ONE AN HOUR.”

THE POT WASN’T FINISHED, IT WAS JUST GETTING STARTED…THE CHAT I’D ENJOYED WAS NO LONGER LIGHT-HEARTED.

“A FLOWER COMPLAINS, ‘I’M TOO DRY, I’M TOO WET…WHY HASN’T SOMEONE THROWN MULCH ON ME YET? TO TOP IT ALL OFF, IT GROWS ROOTS THAT ARE FICKLE AND AFTER A WHILE THOSE ROOTS START TO TICKLE.

STILL…I’D STILL RATHER BE ME, I’M SO GLAD I’M NOT YOU,” THE POT SAID WITH CONVICTION THAT REALLY RANG TRUE.

“I’M OFFENDED!” I CHALLENGED. THE POT JUST LOOKED WISER.

“YOU DO KNOW OF COURSE, THAT YOU’RE FERTILIZER?

SPRING FOX…

SPRING FOX (1 of 1)

It’s almost April! I’m really hoping that I get to see the newest fox family this spring…there were triplets wrestling and playing in the back last year…Yes, this fox was sitting on our deck…if you’re squeamish don’t read this next part…but they would sometimes come up on the deck where I have a little garden and “plant” their “left-overs” there. I never saw them come back to retrieve their “snack”, but my roses sure were beautiful that year.