Bright and simple, the daisies fill the growing grass with their white flowers.
First the hills are marked with a pale yellow tree, here and there, distinct with new leaves. Then the yellow-green spreads, forming patches against the patches of brown. Then the yellow green is everywhere, marked only by the shade and by the way, if you get close enough, you can still see gaps between the boughs. and then, swiftly, they reach a deep summery green, while care can still make out the gaps where the leaves have yet to spread.
A nasty little cloud -- airy, white, dandelion seeds in force ready to spread and spread.
The hills are a patchwork. Not only the dark green of evergreens, the true green of the early trees, the yellow of the late ones, just leafing -- and over that, dark and light according to where the shadows of the clouds, and the sunlight, fall.
It rains and rains and rain -- oh lovely beautiful rain -- and when I venture out afterward, it's time to deadhead the flowers. Petals scattered here and there by blows of raindrops reveal which blooms were past their prime.
Irises. Some cream and brownish red, some a bluish shade of white, some purple. I've heard claims that flowers never clash. It's not true.
The apple tree has lost its blooms but not its color -- new leaves are sprouting, red, from the new branches, and the slightly older new ones settle to yellow before they turn green, and when the morning sunlight shine just right, they all, red, yellow, and green, glow with color.
Off to Elizabeth Park on a blustery day. After an initial period of noting how cars were lining the road, I decided -- what the heck -- I will go into the parking lot, someone might have left -- and it had dozens of open spaces. I even got to park in the shade! And then off into the park with my hat, which only blew off twice, though I had to hold it a couple of times. . . blustery days are not the best view to view roses. Not only can they bend over the bushes adn ruffle the petals in a way that make it hard to see the flowers, the scents can not hang on the air. Though every now and again a burst of sweetness would strike with a gust. And the roses were lovely. Many sunrise shades, of pink and orange like peach; one bush had intense pink and orange blossoms on the same branch; one was pale white flowers tinged with pink, or yellow, or the outer petals with pink and the inner with yellow. Some dark red. One a purplish shade, with a profusion of petals. One a pure snow white and another creamy white, and unlike most white roses, did not get messy as it passed their bloom. The heritage roses were past their prime, but being in a sheltered nook, and more strongly scented, the air was laden with sweetness.
a squirrel prowls across the ground, eying the area about, and inching along like a cat that has seen a mouse.
My asters, planted now for autumnal color -- are blooming within a week. During June. o my