Even though the temperature is still dancing around 32ᵒ F in the night, the days are warming up. The first blossom has opened on my variegated vinca (Periwinkle), along with some healthy new shoots that will make good cuttings for future plants.
I love it when my garden gives me gifts to give to friends and neighbors.
The view above the trees and rooftops from my back door
I like looking at things that are tall. When I walk, I look at the treetops (which is sometimes hazardous to my feet), and I look at the mountains. Though I love them both, the mountains provide the best food for thought. There is mystery there. In spite of all the expert climbers who have ever climbed, I am convinced there are places that no human foot has touched. I imagine treasures there, known only to the birds — a rare blossom rising from a crag in the rocks, a hidden cave that glistens with veins of gold, a hidden spring, a strange creature never previously seen.
Beyond their physical mystery, mountains remind me that there is so much more to life than I am able to discover or grasp. There is so much more in this world that I will never know. This is a source of abiding joy for me. Life is inexhaustible. There is always more. There is always hope. There is always God.
Earlier this October I noticed a volunteer Morning Glory popping up in my rock garden. That plant is doomed to failure, I thought.
Now, it’s delighting me with its first blossom, and more buds are forming. I can’t imagine it surviving the winter, but hey, who am I to complain if it wants to live.