Yard Clippings

It's blessedly cool this morning. It has been a hot summer and this week is supposed to be in the low 80s. Some like it hot. But I do not. We went to the zoo yesterday and it was cool compared to our last few visits, but it was still warm. When we were leaving the zoo, we sat down on a bench in the shade and Anna and Avery lay down on the ground to rest. Will crawled around inquisitively, alone, planning his first steps later that day. He loves being outdoors. The morning glories are beautiful this morning, from periwinkle to purple. They seem intent on taking over the yard, though they are only the age of my son. They're beautiful. The sun is behind some clouds, but it is not too cold, contrary to the whining of my little pansies. It is mild and breezy. Anna just brought out a blanket and a pillow and she and the yellow-haired child are lying down on the patio. The crape-myrtles are blooming lavender and hot pink. The hostas are fading. The pumpkin vine is blooming. Its blossoms are vibrant orange, brimming with life while other plants are beginning to shudder and draw in. The mimosa continues to grow along with the expatriated Michigan lilac. Some of the river birch leaves are yellowing. Will stands on the bench, pounding the keyboard, curious about everything. The Chief Justice is dead. Sandra's tears are woeful, beautiful. Prayer, mild and cool. Leaves of scriptures, greening. The hydrangea is a beautiful palette of so many colors, changing as the seasons change. Some of the flowers are autumnal while a few branches bloom vernal - bright blue in their ignorance. They are happy to be blue. Little oak trees spring up in unexpected places, unihihibited by my vision or plans. Weeds abound. The eaves need de-leaving, de-mucking, de-sapling-ing. This is it, isn't it? Creation. Life. Growing and changing. Perpetuated. Perpetuating. It is diverse and content in its diversity. The liriope does not wish to be the periwinkle. The oaks do not envy the maple. Will hands me his empty juice cup and then follows me to the refrigerator crying, unsure if he was understood. He is unsure if his cup will end up filled with more juice or simply be dropped in the sink. He is unsure and unhappy until he sees the blushing strawberry lemonade. The monkey-boy sits in the pantry and munches on a banana.