Expounding on the contentedness one is experiencing while writing probably borders on braggadocios. On the other hand, reflecting on the blessings of life is a valuable humbling experience. So while I will attempt, dear reader, to avoid making a habit of it, please allow me the joy of describing the setting to this current post.
I am sitting with my feet up on our screened in back porch, feeling a gentle breeze and listening as the leaves rustle slightly with the sound. I have just returned from a run (something of a rarity; I would be dishonest leaving you with the impression that I frequently do, but I have hopes of improving) which has left me with a nice muscle fatigue that makes sitting all the more pleasant and a cold shower that effectively cooled me down and left my mind feeling fresh and energetic despite a tired body.
The trees have really leafed out over the past week or so, and the bridal veil spirea is living up do its name, with small white flowers at the height of their glory. A great fault of mine is I've never learned to identify bird songs; (a fault a hope to one day rectify) were I a capable naturalist this post would include a list of at least five bird species that are all working to serenade me.
Out in the yard, my dear Alex, so long confined to growing plants in her small containers, happily sets about tending to her own little patch of earth. She has busily set about laying plans for our estate, and I am as excited as anyone to see where this leads. Her research has been admirable; she is currently weighing the advantages of grass varieties, can tell you about plants that aid butterflies and birds, and is working through the pros and cons of different tree selections or removals in enough different configurations that advanced combinations is necessary for an adequate calculation.
Yesterday was something of a new experience for me as we worked to set some of the flower beds in order. I have never pruned a rosebush before, and I walked away from the experience in decent shape; one small scratch on the side of my hand. The yard had fallen into a certain amount of neglect in the years leading to our acquisition, it turns out trimming rosebushes is not high on the priority list of certain octogenarians. I was shocked at how much I was instructed to trim away and halfway wonder if I killed the poor thing, but my wife assures me that such is the art of pruning. It is pleasant now looking across at what we have accomplished together (and what Alex has accomplished by herself.)
Indoors, the houseplants are doing alright. Clive, the Chinese evergreen you met in part 1, is suffering from a touch of edema, a condition where water and solutes build up in or around cells and cause blistering. He is currently convalescing in our bedroom, hope being that some increased sunlight and warmer temperatures ease the affliction. We expect a full recovery and a happy life.
Alex was given a generous budget plan for plants. Certain studies I recently read have me convinced that the air filtering capabilities justify an ample supply around the house. Gertrude the geranium sits downstairs next to the walkout entrance. The way she cranes her leaves towards the light throughout the day certainly have the effect of making her look as though she longs to be put outside. Alex has been rotating her to ensure even growth, and when I work down in the basement on a computer project she makes a comfortable silent companion.
Anyway, I just don't feel the desire to provide you with a narrative this week, dear reader. The bliss of the present is so great I just wish to dwell on it. Next time, hopefully my post will contain more action words. 'Till then, Omnia Vincit Amour.
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