the blue muse

I haven’t had snapdragons in years. I missed them.

And I still miss foxgloves and delphiniums, zinnias and cosmos. Maybe next year. My garden has gone from messy cottage to slightly less messy stick-with-what-likes-to-grow-there.

And so it is.

Last night I stepped outside at dusk to call for Naughty Kitten, just at the moment when it seemed all the birds were flying home for the night.

Green herons crissed-crossed with robins, cardinals went ’round starlings, swallows swooped away from mourning doves.

The hummingbird hovered on his own at the feeder, having no match for his flight pattern.

And the tiniest baby toad seems to think I’m its mother, every time I walk outside it comes to me from the hiding place it waits in. I keep moving it, whispering the danger from Kitten, but it keeps returning, making me smile with its teeny-tiny-ness.

Simple joys.

This morning I awoke to a house filled with sunshine. Those same birds sang me awake, again. My garden smells like summer. And there I was smiling, again.

Perhaps my simple life should be boring. I’m sure to some people, it would be.

But somehow, to me, it feels just right.

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