under the sun
There is a rabbit burrow under the giant honeysuckle bush in the front yard, I just know it. There must be one, I see its residents regularly, munching on chamomile and fresh bulb growth.
I don’t know if it’s the rabbits, the squirrels, or the chipmunks that graze on my carefully planted perennial beds, I stopped keeping track a long time ago.
The grand magnolia tree looks small and vulnerable after being stripped naked by the frost but swelling leaf buds are growing fast, eager to restore its majestic foliage.
Squirrels straddle its branches, sharing them with doves and songbirds and seeking shelter from a large hawk whose nest is in one of the tall trees across the street.
Two colonies of ants have painstakingly built anthills behind the peonies and are fussy with anticipation, they can hardly wait for the flower buds to open.
The delphiniums are in bloom and yesterday I saw the first rose. Now and then one of the neighborhood cats strolls across the yard on its daily route, startling a shivering chipmunk or a tiny sparrow on its way.
Cucumbers and squashes sprouted vigorously, putting out leaves left and right and grabbing onto whatever they can find with springy tendrils.
Shrubby perennials materialized out of thin air, it seems like, the catmints, the Russian sage, the not-so-dead roses.
Golden irises are lifting their masts above an ocean of fleshy daylily foliage, looking marooned in the tide of growth that followed the rain.
Patches of violet flowers glow dimly through the greenery, cutting pathways through the maze of fresh growth to the more secluded parts of the flower borders.
We all need a little place under the sun.
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