Early morning mist rises up from the valley... between Flower Hill Farm and Carey Hill, where the Mill River rushes... gushing from all the record rainfalls of the summer. It's song is carried up the hillside, along with the sun which begins to perch atop the crest of Carey Hill. As our planet rotates and wobbles in it's path around our life star, our days here are becoming shorter by minutes. Each new dawn, our sun gives the illusion of moving further south... inching to the right above the peaks of Hemlock and White Pine atop the thickly forested hill. I look out over the expansive landscape, then the large deep sky and sigh for its beauty... before heading into the garden for a walk. I am entering into a habitat... a sacred land where life stirs, while the ghostly mist floats into leafy shrubs and petals, bringing a damp chill into the gardens. Golden shafts of sun slice through thick layers of moist air and warmth will reign this day. There is a dense high pile carpet of wet grass and clover, for I have not mowed in weeks... one reason being all the rain that never seems to end, another is due to the monarch butterflies and the milkweed plants in the paths. If we get a couple of dry days in a row, I can mow, after gathering all the milkweed and checking them for eggs. If there are eggs, I will bring them in and raise the caterpillars, then release the butterflies into the garden. I could give more reasons like I hate the way the grass looks all cut off or the clover is food for the many wild honey bees, but perhaps most importantly... it is not good for our environment. For now, I hope you will join me on a stroll about the garden. No need for you to get soaked, as I will be, when I return to my studio. I could relax a bit in the hammock and perchance to see a hummingbird sipping from the nearby bee balm, if only every surface were not drenched.
