The Endless Green

The bluebells, muscari, tulips and assorted daffs had a wild, raucous Spring Party out in my yard, but now the hour is late and summer is jangling her keys in the stairwell.   Out I go again to crawl over my property, cleaning up masses of blown petals, naked stems and yellowing explosions of wilting leaves dribbled over the ground.  Even the cherry trees and firs got into it, sprinkling dry brown bits of old blossom and tree-noodles hither and thither until they mound on the benches.

What a mess!

Still....it is very peaceful, on my knees among the irises grubbing out old bluebell stalks and the dry lace of expired forget-me-nots. The wind is in the poplars, a robin oversees my work before going to the birdbath for a drink.  The cotoneaster arches over my baby fothergilla, who is so proud of his very first springtime puffballs.  Nearby, the angelica has leapt from the height of my knees to being taller than the fence, graceful and crisp and lovely.  Everything is fragrant, or pungent, or sweet, each in its own way.

I suppose it's worth it after all.