"O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Love is like the melody,
That's sweetly played in tune."
~ Robert Burns (1759-1796)
We've had a spring -- a real spring -- with cool temperatures and moderate rain and then the yo-yo factor thrown in. As a reward punishment, we now have summer -- late summer, July and August summer -- with temperatures approaching triple digits, the air heavy with humidity, and no breeze to speak of. Plants are confused and befuddled, as are the butterflies. The black swallowtail have still not bombarded the fennel as last year and I have only six monarch caterpillars chomping away on the milkweed, safe in the sunroom. Each day, I expect the Japanese beetles to show up in the delicate roses (the black spot has already arrived); so I enjoy each small triumph of bloom on the rose as it happens. Mr. Lincoln was planted last year and gave one bloom, a glorious bloom to be sure, but only one. This year, two. Twice as many deep garnet soft petals, captured in digital image but now gone, whisked away by a fleeting gust of wind. Perhaps it will surprise me and produce more; yet, if not, I will be grateful for the rich ruby light it added to our day.
