Just when I forgot this place existed, I remembered, and here I am in February, in Winnipeg, in the middle of a blooming garden - grape hyacinths, primroses, crocuses, a glass ceiling partly covered with ice and snow, but mostly just blue sky and sunlight. On the other side of the walls, spring is still months away, but inside it has arrived. This place is always filled with either little children, just learning to walk, or the elderly, needing a hand to help them walk. The little ones run wildly, meeting the flowers at eye-level, greeting them with kisses and claps; the elderly stoop forward, murmuring "ahhs" and "mmmms" trying to remember names and other gardens they have known. The snow outside is still deep, but today I think the bulbs underground are not sleeping as soundly as they were yesterday.
I am already more than a week into my summer holidays and just beginning to settle into this greenest of seasons - so glad to be at home with my windows and my light. I am just learning how to post these blogs, spending too much time in front of my computer, not enough time with the sky. The morning began with thunder - an hour of pouring rain and thunder!! Long after sunrise, the sky was still dark and ominous, but then suddenly the sun broke through. I put on my garden shoes, grabbed my camera, and went out to the flowers . . .
After all that wild weather, the day lily leaves were covered with such quiet raindrops . . .
One side of my yard is lined with leafy peonies - the grandmother of all flowers - pink, white, deep, deep red. I have been deadheading the flowers all week long, but this one, just opening, survived the storm. I have lived in my house for nearly twenty years; these peonies were here long before I moved in and with any luck will be here long after I am gone.
