In summer, we live on what we grow.
Greens for the stomach and blooms for the heart.
Thick soil, ripe with worms and beetles, spread with the spectrum of colours, a riot of blooms and shoots.
So short the time of air thick with bird song, with ever-blowing samaras and cypselas.
Our hand-crafted greenery can feel that pulse, that frantic pace of the living and blooming.
Things grow in a riot of intensity, greedily soaking up every ray, every breath of sun-warmed air.
As they speed, I slow.
I stand in the heavy scent of peonies, of honeyblossoms-
Close my eyes and gather warm memories for colder days.
There are few things I love more than the rich, heady scent of a sun-warmed garden.