Swamp mallow or Hibiscus Moscheutos. I took that picture on my walk this morning. It looks so much like the okra bloom, the Rose of Sharon, the regular Hibiscus. The maroon throat is like a portal to another universe. It is that beautiful.
I always wait too late to go for my walk and come home drenched in sweat. This time of year my hair never really gets dry and I wonder that it does not mildew. I am sitting in front of a little fan, drinking ice-water, and already I am cooling down, watching the green of the backyard as I write this. The church next door is having Vacation Bible School, I do believe. The children are playing, I love their voices. I told Mr. Moon last week that I should have signed up to teach a gardening class. He looked around at our garden where I was standing, weeds up to my shoulders in some places, the stink-bug sucked tomatoes, the wilted, stunted cucumbers and beans. He snorted. "Seriously," I said. "I could have had them weed this garden. And then I could have taught a poultry class and had them clean out the chicken coop."
He gave me one of those looks. Like, "Uh, right," and went on about his manly tree-pulling business.
Here's another picture from my walk.
Fairly large oak snake. I think it was an oak snake. No evil vibe about it at all. I was not even sure if it was alive as it wasn't moving and I wasn't poking. But I saw no apparent injuries. He is pretty kinky though.
And since I've started writing this I've found two eggs, one white, one small brown, talked to Jessie on the phone AND my Lizzie. She and Lon are celebrating their 35th anniversary today. The children next door are having a great deal of fun and somehow, I'm thinking that Bible study isn't part of it. I never shrieked with delight while at VBS when we were doing those little flannel board things with Jesus walking on water.
Maurice brought me a buzzing cricket but then decided to crunch it and eat it herself.
I finished Kate Atkinson's One Good Turn last night and at the last sentence wanted to go back and start it all again. But I cannot do that. I have TC Boyle's new book of short stories that I am about to die to dive into. I'm having a hard time with Clash of Thrones. I can't possibly keep up with all the family lines. It's like the damn Old Testament with all the begats. I swear- I listen to a disc and then re-listen to it and I am still at least 50% clueless. But I'm enjoying it anyway.
And I got a brand new Esquire today. Jesus! Even though I read while I put my socks on, I can't keep up with it all.
The boys will be here soon. It's a beautiful summer day. I feel good and content and the crickets are singing their chorus which rises and falls, a perfect sound track to the way the sun goes in and out of clouds, the children are quiet for now and perhaps they are eating their lunch. The dogs and the cat are napping.
I am rich in every way that matters. And I know it.