I woke with today's song in my head. Haven't been able to shake it since, even after listening to it, which frequently cures ear worms. I think it is because I was thoroughly convinced that the mystery rose, which has now conclusively been identified as the missing peace rose, would finally be open. The calyx has opened, but the bud itself is still tightly furled. It is pale yellow, with the promise of blush tips. If it were warm and sunny today, maybe it would have bloomed by now.
I snuck off on my walk with just the little red-headed dog. At first I though we were undetected. The large professional eater dog (who has the memory of a goldfish, forgetting she got the last two solo walks with mom) saw me run back inside for a plastic bag, so she knew what was happening. She filed a formal complaint. This might be funny except, as all dog parents know, dog protests involve some amount of urine, and in this case, a Persian rug. The walk was particularly nice today. We went down the main neighborhood artery, so I got to mix up my usual view. Today was more about the HOA-controlled rights of way, with sculpted beds of fresh pine straw, ponds with fountains, and a view into people's back yards. I saw the entire area with new eyes, loving how it looked in the looming rain, gray and green and grown in. I think I know what to credit for the difference. I think it is this blog. It is teaching me to focus like I haven't been able to in years. I had let technology spin me down the short attention span path, unable to sit still without the television on, texting, and playing games on the iPad all at the same time. Getting out into my Park, forcing myself to pay attention to the details, and to compose a theme in my head every morning is cleaning the corrosion off the neural pathways in my brain. I have wanted to be a writer since I was in middle school, and my friend Tammy told me she liked my stories best in English class. I have started writing a dozen or more novels in my lifetime. I have never, ever finished a whole one. Maybe the solution was staring me in the face all along: write vignettes. Do it every day. Problem solved.
I only took one photo so far this morning. I was watching a heavy rain soak the deck, knowing that I made plans to bring a friend over for lunch, to dine al fresco. So much for that.
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