It's
Rosa fendleri time again and once more I'm regretting where I planted, a few years ago, the tiny wild plants dug up from where they were happily growing in a nice moist spot near an acequia way away from the house. They are now thriving, 7 feet tall, behind adobe walls! They're crowding out the apricot tree (no sign of apricots) and the thorns of this pretty delicate-looking rose bush are evil! These wild roses grow everywhere. I remember versions of them at the edge of Narragansett Bay; in Connecticut woods; along the Atlantic shore. I saw them in Mexico. I severely trimmed the bushes back last December after harvesting the rose hips that I unsuccessfully planned to make jam out of. But they're tenacious. And pretty. Just don't get too near. They resemble the color of the socks I finished the other night, don't they? This must be my prom-dress pink period.
slow movin' time...
Having met, yesterday, the first two deadlines that drove me to extra glasses of wine the last couple of nights, I had a low-energy day today and just went with it. Summer has come to our valley and at times there is a blue and green stillness when the wind doesn't blow, when the only sounds are the birds and the insistent invisible buzzing of insects in the tall grasses. I only felt a twinge of guilt this day as I read, wrote, puttered. And now, early dinner time, the artichokes are cooking, the salmon is waiting, and I plan to watch a movie tonight and knit. Tomorrow
is another day and the craziness starts all over again...I'll think about it tomorrow...
