Red Mimosa

IMG_8662.jpg

On the road from Delphi to anywhere….I don’t care.

Advertisements

Jeweled Poinsettia

IMG_6739.jpg

I grow the poinsettia plant because I can. The rain catches on the leaves like cabochons of perfect light. They glitter each leaf as the sun returns after a summer rain.  They will be green, green, green until after the Autumnal Equinox.

Then as the days grow shorter, the sunlight changes its angle in the sky. Little by little, some of the leaves will turn red. As the leaf clusters turn, small yellow flowers grow within these bunches. The combination of these become what we call the Christmas flower.

It is important to allow the plant to create itself. All summer it will grow larger and larger. We must wait. The poinsettia is responsive to light and I would never think of forcing it. Mine stay outside until the nights get cold, like the end of October. This takes patience and a watchful eye. Let the plant be a miracle on its own. Enjoy the change. It will continue to grow.

Good Morning

IMG_6688.jpg

I appologize for not being an active blogger since summer swim began. I’m still trying to watch the progress in Puerto Rico daily. Unfortunately, I’m unable to post every day. This gorgeous morning glory, so surprisingly white gave me its purple star center this morning. Amazing. Thank you all for visiting my blog and sometime in August, I’ll be on a better schedule. Besos y Abrazos….. Kisses & Hugs.

Are We There Yet? = ¿Ya Llegamos?

IMG_6635.jpg

The AEE reports 99.70% of the homes and businesses throughout the island have power. Today is 269 days since Maria made landfall and 282 days since Irma made landfall on Puerto Rico. There are still 4,346 customers without power.DgDHPbXVQAA-TXX.jpg

Sonnet 54 William Shakespeare

IMG_3715.jpg

SONNET 54

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo’d and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.