Thursday, April 1, 2010

Planting Roses


Over the weekend I bought two rose varieites, a pink David Austin 'Heritage' and an orange and gold climbing rose called 'Pinata'. I have delusions of grandeur when it comes to the Rock House and Rock Garden in our yard. I want the Rock House to be covered with beautiful, blooming roses. I want the borders to be thick with lavender, rosemary, roses and moss (depending, obviously, on the amount of sunlight). It's going to be a long haul from the briers, saplings and trash we started with to the end point of my fantasy but these roses are a start.
We settled them in with a good water and some aged manure.

We also have several French lavender plants, one of which we transplanted from NC.
I love Spring planting and summer watching as the garden comes to life, grows and sometimes goes wild. I never garden in the heat of summer, so things have to be as prepped as possible during this short season of temperate weather. This year I'm hoping the roses go wild.

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No NAIS!

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!