nce upon a time, in a garden somewhere between here and there, peony blossoms remained tightly wrapped in anticipation of their debut at the grand ball. Even the servant ants worked tirelessly and feverishly to ensure that each fold, each petal, was proper and elegant.
I always thought I knew my garden, knew all of its ins and outs. I have learned otherwise since starting this blog. Now, I find myself looking at the garden more deeply, always thinking of the next post. In fact, post obsession occupies most of my daily thoughts since I promised myself that I would post twice a week. Could I possibly write that much, especially at this time of year when so much of the garden is leaving or already gone?
That was the thought I had the other day when I pulled into the driveway, the posting question planted firmly in the forefront of my brain. It had been a rainy, gray day — and as I sat in my car, I looked about and I was stunned. My garden had been transformed into a shimmering display of rubies and amber, garnet and topaz. The next day, the sun came out, and when I looked about again, I discovered that my rainy day vision had not been a dream.