My garden’s a haven to what gardeners call “volunteers.” Some are the children of plants we’ve planted over the years and others are pilgrims to my alien shore that I don’t have the heart to starve, rip to shreds, or send out into a stormy sea.
The stalk is approximately five feet high. But it didn’t squeeze out the other plant. They’re living happily together.
May all your pilgrims be grateful for the protected soil they’re growing in! Even in a crowded pot, there is room to share.
This is how my grandfather looked before he went to war (WWI). He came back with gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes and never quite overcame the stomach ailments he returned with.
His name written on the back, probably by his mother or father. This post was inspired by Bruce Goodman’s wonderful story over on Weave A Web. Check it out (but have your hankies on hand).
The last few days I’ve been watching this flower grow out of a pile of decaying leaves in an empty flower pot. Because my husband insists of feeding the birds, we find flowers struggling to survive in the oddest places, their existence a testimony to hope. This little one – a long-legged teen – peers out at the rest of the yard perhaps dreaming of having her feet planted in real dirt. Maybe she hopes for a friend, a partner, or a drop of rain on her face.
We did get a few drops of rain this afternoon, enough to clear the air of the dust and smoke. Not enough to wash the grime from the cars, not enough to make a dent in the drought. Not enough, but like a pile of decaying leaves, giving hope.
(this post is supposed to be for #WordlessWednesday but alas a few words trickled onto to the page and I didn’t have the heart to deny them!)
This week I’ve been having an email discussion with a group of friends I’ve known for a long time, thus our discussion has centered on the issues we face: elderly parents and soon to be elderly us. But rather than delve into what is the most depressing topic (other than the sinking stock market and the ascendency of Dunce Trump) I’m just going to post a picture one of the oldest thangs I’ve ever seen:
Of course, as lighthouses go this one is well past its prime but it was interesting to learn that during the bombing of England (WWII), Hitler was insistent the castle be spared; the surrounding town was not so fortunate.
The good thing about getting older is we get to be silly again. (Of course, some of us never stopped but that’s another story!) Do something silly today!