Mom planted these. When I first moved here over 30 years ago. And indeed they seem to live forever. On these cool mornings, I find bees sleeping in the flowers. So drowsy, I can even pet them. Although, I must admit, at first I was checking to see if were were still alive. They seem drunk with nectar. Nestled deep in the blossoms and emerging slowly. Just looking at me. What? In a way, Mom planted herself here. As the season turns and these plants bloom, while others fade, I think of her. Resting. And I am refreshed.
I'm working on some little icons (based on nine of course). They will become links to Small Journeys, embedded in my posts. Starting tomorrow. I have decided to keep the comments open here on the main blog. The journeys will simply add quiet clarity. Clarity starts small.