Back to bark. When in doubt, bark. Well, photograph bark. It never fails to engage me. This is from the meditation garden too. Deep crevasses, rich rusty browns, elegant grays. Trees, you do bark well.
Also, when in doubt, bake. I was antsy and cranky yesterday for a while, so I made chocolate chip banana bread. Good recipe. It was (and still is) yum. No wonder our daughter is a baker. It is comforting to make a familiar recipe, put it together, and anticipate its aroma baking and its flavor eating.
Aren’t these just the epitome of elegance? They are so graceful, with their gently folding petals edged with white, and their overlapping layering touches. The one near the top seems poised to speak, or perhaps pour out its loveliness onto its neighbor below.
A purple and white garden would suit me just fine. Throw in some foliage varying from emerald green to chartreuse and it would be lively. Let’s see: hydrangeas, calla lilies, lily of the valley, lilacs, impatiens, irises, pansies, baby’s breath…the list goes on and on.
I’ve seen these green star-shaped stacks only at the meditation garden. They seem like they should compress into a deck of cards. The white blossom takes center stage while still conforming to the general shape. Everywhere you look in this garden, loveliness greets you.
More ambiguity from the meditation garden. With the white sky background, there is no indication of the size of these plants. They seemed majestic and joyful to me, with their perky pink-orange stripes and upturned petals (leaves?) Come celebrate, they beckon!
We were at the meditation garden again today, with friends who are visiting from out of town. I’m not sure exactly where in the garden I took this; I think it was my best shot of the day, although others will probably have their moment in blog soon enough.
The garden overlooks the ocean, built and cultivated along the cliff top. I think it is one of my favorite spots in our area; if guests have a limited amount of time, I put it at the top of the agenda.
I wonder why these misty, blendy days intrigue me so? Perhaps it’s like boundary conditions in mathematics and problem definition — the interesting things happen at the edges, both perceived and posited. So where are the edges here, looking over the edge of the earth (and I am indeed looking over the edge of the beachfront cliff) to the edge of the sea, to the edge of the sky, with none of those edges clear or crisp although we know they are certainly there? Now, that was a very long question, as I pause to take a breath, as the wave itself pauses in its race up the sand, as the sky, too, pauses while deciding how to descend upon the sea, whose waves foam in contrasting whiteness as they add contrast to the composition. Yes.
While we were in Madison, I visited a friend who was taking care of a neighbor’s chicken. I had no idea chicken feathers were so beautiful and so soft. I love the detail, the symmetry, the variation, the intricacy, and the many shades of taupe. They look just as soft as they are.
The community gardens were full of late-summer foliage, both edible and not. I loved this unlikely pinky-purple and orange juxtaposition, and thanked the monarch (?) for posing for me. I admit to sampling a few (I think three; I felt guilty!) late-ripening raspberries that were hanging over the footpath. I mean, temptation?! Thank you, whoever planted them.
We did golden yellow and orange, now this red canna. It’s really hard to tell the seasons around here — the humidity is down and it feels more like spring than fall. Not complaining, mind you, just in wonder for the continuing floral surprises. The red fence seems almost pale in comparison.
Our lagoon walk has both native and non-native plants, and we enjoy seeing the birds, herons, and gulls hanging about the water. From that walking path, we see homes and highways and road and railroad (and freight and passenger trains) and lagoon and ocean. It’s quite the sensory treat.
I couldn’t resist. Amazing that a cell phone camera can do this.
I tried to find out what kind of spider she is, but I found I was somewhat weirded out looking at the photos online, much as I was when I’d open National Geographic as a kid and be startled with a bigger-than-life-sized scary-looking photo of something I didn’t want to touch or have touching me!
I don’t have that visceral reaction to the spider herself, although I wouldn’t be thrilled to find her crawling on me. Just don’t feel comfortable with the big photos. Maybe you aren’t either; if so, sorry to make you uncomfortable!
Wikipedia tells me it’s a crane fly or southern green stink bug (!) When I came across it on the sidewalk I stopped in my tracks. It was in Kansas, not here in Carlsbad, even though Carlsbad is further south than Kansas. I don’t know what made me look twice. I had no idea it was a bug. But there in the shadow are its head and antennae. I noticed no “stink,” just an unlikely brightness and stillness. Never saw anything like it before.
Back to orange. I think of marigolds as spring-into-summer flowers, but there they were, at the side of the road. Our weather has certainly held no hint of autumn, even SoCal autumn, as slight as that is. But these marigolds turn orange into a golden rather than pumpkin hue, reminding me somehow of saffron. Which is probably redder than this, but its intensity is what makes me feel their kinship.
Saffron: paella coming up somewhere in my cooking schedule these next weeks. When I pull those dainty, delicate threads out of their teensy glass bottle, will I think of marigolds?
Once again. And it’s the blue and the black. I like yellow more and more! I guess it’s also the shapes, and the fractal nature of the drooping branches, drooping little branches, even perhaps drooping leaves. Very elegant tree. Casually elegant. A clear yellow-gold shawl thrown carelessly over brown-black shoulders, with a cheerful smile. Yes.
I think I like the yellow foliage even better than red or orange. There’s something regal and rich with the blue peeking through so tenderly and the dark contrast of the branches. We were there at just the right time: not the very beginning of the color changes, but well before the peak.
I’ve just used ‘peek’ and ‘peak’ in the same paragraph. I keep seeing the wrong ones used in print, and have to think about it. Never used to have to think about it, but at least there is still something that jars me into alertness.
Back to colors, though. Yellow is sometimes considered difficult for painters. It has to be pristine. It is too easy for it to become muddy. But nature has no problem with that. More yellow to come…