This morning I note the gentle turning.
A hint of browning.
All the more lovely.
Several years ago, when my darling cousin, Wendy, was wildly in love with a German artist and Fulbright Scholar, we all had dinner in my little apartment near the beach. While I was busy preparing, Wolfgang was chatting me up on many important visual ideas. We immediately agreed on this: the spending of a flower is worth as much as the budding. He was commenting on some tulips that were turning and dropping on my kitchen counter. I thought they were wondrous and worthy. And so did Wolf.
This affection doesn't always work for me, when I'm the attentive gardener. When I'm the attentive gardener. Flowers spent need to go. As I understand it, they extract energy from the plant needed to form new buds-to-flowers-to-groundward-petals. I become conflicted. I want the new and I love the early turn.
So here we are and here we will be. Observing the turning of Russelina at the expense of that which will follow.
The last of the hardy, fragrant, Freesia.
Tomorrow? Shall we turn to the glorious creation called the Redbud Tree?
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