Garden of Verses

Kelley's post (she has some lovely shots up of her garden) prompted my thoughts this morning (which I shared with her via e-mail).

We used to live in the Midwest and I knew just about every wildflower on the side of the road, definitely every tree (thanks to my very knowledgable R) and bird, and every "domesticated" plant around.

Living in the west, I am reduced to the "know-nothing" status again. I must personally thank you for the shot of the Zinnia. They are my favorite, although, they aren't so without a lot of work on both our parts. I know what you mean- love/hate. I believe Zinnias have come to respect me because I am so nice to them even while swearing and gritting my teeth; I have come to respect them for finally being so nice as to bloom for me.

We lived in the country until our last six months of living in Missouri. There was this paved old county road that I would occasionally take to get to the highway. I mostly drove it at night because I loved the smell at this certain point. It was sweet and momentarily intoxicating.

One afternoon, I put my sleepy little girls into the van and took them for a drive, knowing the warmth of the sun would massage their little bodies to sleep. I took a left turn out of my driveway. My brain knew where it wanted to go. The source of my high needed to be revealed. As the curtains of my babes eyes began to close, I looked for my landmarks telling me I was coming closer. The gentle hill gave way to my secret natural smack: a two acre Zinnia garden. A wee woman was standing in the middle of their glory. Seeing the car slow, she raised her wide brim hat a bit and waved. We smiled at one another.

I drove on and returning home, laid my little lasses in their beds. From then on I took the road as often as possible, by night or day.

*editing limited to corrective spelling and giving credit to whom credit is due (aka R is The Tree Man)