One gardener's observations, discoveries and random thoughts whilst simultaneously worshipping and dallying in a Cape Cod garden. "A garden," said Ralph Waldo Emerson, "is like those pernicious machineries which catch a man's coatskirt or his hand, and draw in his arm, his leg and his whole body to irresistable destruction."

Solstice Morning

Normally, I’d have spent more time in the garden on this lovely Solstice morning. There were no lack of distractions to tempt me, certainly, like these pink fairy roses in the front garden.

Or this lovely yellow tickseed coreopsis, bursting open like the fireworks we’ll see along the bayshore in a week or so…

The foxglove spires are at their most gorgeous, with blooms open all along their stalks.

It’s like a brilliant fairyland out there and I could happily wallow in the hazy, summer-y feeling for hours on end.

But on this morning I have other plans, and as the poet said, miles to go before I sleep. Not even the sensuous perfume of the red, red rose could make me linger for more than the shortest of visits with each of the morning’s pretties.

There’s a car to wash, and laundry to pack, and bills to pay and the bank to visit, and then I’ll be hitting the highway for a June roadtrip to the Adirondacks, following this longest day of the year as it moves across Massachusetts and into New York.


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