Terrace after rain

The hanging gardens of Brooklyn...

As simple and ubiquitous as they are, I remain delighted by the exquisite perfection of the tiny violas. Each stripe on each petal a minute brush stroke. The smallest violas we called heart's ease...I remember them growing wild in the misty fields near the inn at Rawdon's in Natal, when we visited my brother Francois at Michaelhouse, his boarding school. The heart's ease one can almost feel. Looking into that tiny face is an act followed by almost perceptable release.

I have moved the hosta to the shadier side of the terrace, where it will not obliterate the smaller plants wanting sun.

The climbing Iceberg has begun to bloom sporadically, instead of with its Lights! Camera! Action! bursts of previous years...I sense all is not well with it. I think it wants out of its pot.

The heirloom spinach is spinaching.

More China Blue...this one much paler than the others.

And my current favourites: Viola pedata: birdsfoot violets.

We have our first sunny day after a week of rain. The wind came last night and blew it all away, the rose thorns tugging and squeaking against the metal gutter on the roof.

I am thinking of the perennials on the Median. They will enjoy the sun, and I hope we get more promised rain this week. They are all still there. I look at them every day, and there is much growth. The geraniums are in pink bloom, the amsonia is 6 "high, and the tiny, just-breaking-dormancy gaura are hanging in there. I see footprints where people have crossed through the beds, but so far no harm. I was told that everything would be stolen: "if it's not nailed down they will take it..."

Well, "they" haven't.

Yet.

And finally, thanks to Moosey for listing 66 Square Feet as a gardening blog worth visiting. She will make me garden harder...