A respite attempt ruined at the start but made in the end.

We climbed in the hammock

awash in flies

the hammock

not she, nor I.

She squimpered. I grusked.

She’d spent the whole day frumping,

I figured she must

have found the next thing

that pissed off her fancy.

I softened then when

I saw what she’d spied

a puddle of gnats

who’d yet to have flied

or perhaps had alit

to our colorful place

to create such a fit

from supposed sugar and lace.

Abundance.

Poppyseed prevalence.

Gardeners chatting yesterday more than most days. A yellow mask. A blue. A cherry blossom and Robin covered one. Kombucha. Peppers. Birds and onions.

“Now, about sourdough starters…” she said.

“Would you like some?” I offered.

She pointed to her plot, we coordinated a time (ish.) I fed my starter and put hers into a washed old peanut butter jar.

The dew this morning is so thick it reaches to the sky. I hope she finds the jar with the note still dry enough to read.

They came anyway.

She painted it metallic pinks and purples. Covered it in foam sticker butterflies and hearts. We hung it on the fence and waited.

The rains came and the heat, too, and the paint started to peel. A sticker and then two and twenty washed away.

A few butterflies remain and today, she squealed a whispered jump for joy in my ear.

“They found it! Look, mama!”

Howdy, new neighbor. Make yourself at home.

Wildflower anticipation.

The youngest picked a packet at the shop last we went. A mix of wild promises of blossom and burst.

This variety has sprouted in a few spots we sprinkled. Each pair of leaves with a match pair of nibbles. Such consistency that I first thought it a pattern of growth… but it’s instead a habitual snacker.

It’ll be a lovely wait and good surprise to see what these grow into, if they make it to maturity.