Monday, July 20, 2009

A prospect of flowers.

Today when we went to our regular USA Today (crossword) (and news, obviously) purchasing spot (ancillary purchases: arborio rice and baking powder, because (a) risotto, and (b) projected baking), the proprietress took the time out of her busy schedule to tell us that she and her husband had driven up Mt. Sawtell yesterday and there were flowers galore, flowers aplenty, flowers of every season, era, and provenance, and they were blooming like mad. So after we had taken care of our responsibilities:
  • finishing listening to the Tom Waits interview that was critical to my being able to
  • thoroughly revise a tricky poem, and
  • bake oat shortbread (well, Tom Waits wasn't strictly necessary, but helpful, obviously),
we hightailed it out of our lodgings lickety-split and drove up the mountain, where there were, truly, flowers galore and aplenty &c., and blooming like mad:


  1. gorgeous flowers! i miss up there...

  2. Nice flowers. We went up to Big Cottonwood this weekend to see flowers and I too zero pictures of the flowers.

  3. Very lovely. I'll be heading to the high Uintas in about a week. Love the flowers there.

  4. I love your life.

  5. So, I says to myself, now there's a meadow, no wonder she wants to leave civilization and move there with her clothesline.

    And then I sees all kinds of pictures in that photostream of hers and I says Lordy! That meadow is in her own front yard back home. I recognize those tulips and those peonies. And that homegrown meadow is as delightful and natural as the one she found near the pines.

    And I thinks to myself, what a wonder. She has truly got a vision.



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