But yesterday I knew I could at least survey the reality. Call it a mess. Figure out a plan. I tricked myself into going out front with the idea that I didn't actually need to do anything. I could just look around, agree that it is a mess, plan out a few weeks of concentrated work, and be done for the day. Plan I can do.
Before I even came around the corner, I could see the frilled edges of the first purple iris, flapping in the wild winds, rich layers of color bouncing and dancing and sparkling. Iris are the flowers of my childhood front walkway. They are a reminder of my friend Alison. They are so beautiful. And even in my yard, they are bold and strong and healthy, touting their royal purple in the midst of weeds and crummy soil.
The rosemary is blooming and curling and growing strong in Madelaine's herb patch. I played many a holiday hide and seek game in the Rogers' rosemary bushes. My apologies to those brave and hardy plants, but those memories are sweet and the fragrance so very welcome. The branches of our much smaller plants are curled and whimsical and dotted with blue flowers. They are healthy and spreading and very much at home.
As I went from corner to corner, surveying the scene, flowers were pushing forth in the midst of the weeds, stronger than last year, dotted with color, waving bravely in the wind. They were not daunted by their surroundings. They were beautiful.
I keep passing the bouquet, watching the flowers catch the light as it arcs across the kitchen windows. The colors and textures change with the hours, and the abundance of it all just amazes me.