Pilosulousity is on my mind as I run my hands over the Short's Aster, bearing "minute, long, soft, straight hairs." I can't stand all of the oohs and ahhs of the garden world at this moment. Sensational overload. Touches and smells and colors of the botany of desire envelope me as if I'm a bee or something not quite far from it. I know I'm not. I know plants are eyeing me with their tendrils and roots; taking hold of my thoughts.
I know they want me to want them. And I do.
Oh, the juiciness of late spring abounds.
Take this in:
Oxalis, Geranium, Murl in the window box
Two-toned Mauve iris
I can't even begin to describe this color
Sweetspire about to burst
The first Bradbury's Monarda to bloom
Claspy, claspy Aster leaves
Running my fingers through these
The old wheel barrow of natives
Are there words?
And this blue
silk wrap- Cali poppy
purple. gray green.
Arugula flowers = sweet and spicy
Moody Blues Nigella
I can't stand it.
Iris come hither
spears of Prairie Dock
will o'the wisps