Poppies, Wild Roses and Six Hills Giant Catmint
* A favorite perennial combination.

Have not been in a talkative mood, lately. And, that silence throws everyone off.

Mom’s Wild Roses originated at my Grandmother’s and have moved from house to house. (That’s called stealing but only when you get caught in the act.)

Under normal circumstances I never stop talking. You’d think people would be thrilled when I finally run out of things to say!

There’s really only one thing wrong with Oriental Poppies: At some point, they stop blooming.

Instead, they tippy toe around me, walking on those proverbial eggshells. Fearful I’m mad. Even more fearful they might have to step up to the plate and carry the conversation.

Bleeding Hearts

Not sure what that’s all about between talkers and listeners, but a role reversal certainly gets my friends a fidgeting. What’s interesting, though, is that their fears are kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. They’re worried that I’m mad, so they become tongue-tied. Yet it’s their silence that actually makes me mad.

Rains ~ incessant rains ~have turned my desert landscape into a lush island paradise.
* The vertical lines in the sky is the rain pouring down.

Well, it used to make me mad. Not any more. At some spot on that long, tiresome path called growing older it suddenly dawned on me. It’s not because they don’t care. They just don’t have the words.

And, neither do I. Which is why I thought I’d let my flowers do the talking.