Summer is very pretty in Seattle. We've left behind spring's stunning contrasts of light greens against deep blue firs. But the mad gardeners of the Northwest are admiring landscape designs, the results of planting and weeding swaths of flower borders, new shrubs, and trees. Bright dahlias have burst into bloom. Vines curl up the siding and around the base of flowerbeds. Sunflowers tower against the garden walls.
We wore long sleeves on our 7am cycle to the grocer. The house has settled into a cooler, bearable temperature. Just in time for the overcast morning, my swim spa is full and functional again, thanks to the heroic efforts of a loving husband who built the side supports yesterday. How I look forward to swimming this summer and fall!
Our new canary (a Waterslager male) is still thinking about singing as he settles into the aviary. He was in a tiny cage in someone’s office and is now in a 3X3X5’ space. My other birds are being watched by a friend this summer so he’s lonely. It’s fun to watch him cock his year this way and that as he listens to the birds in our forest. I miss the pure clear song of our American Singer: the neighbor’s cat killed it through the cage wires the day after I left for Springfield.
The fish in the courtyard pond are lazing near the bottom except to pick off mosquito larvae. The fragrance of jasmine hangs heavy in the air as I head outside to work remotely. The little plant that languished under other plants for four or five years grew tall enough to hit the sun and exploded upwards to twine around our porch posts two years ago. It’s a lovely morning in the city. Reminds me of the verses on the spectacular bloom God has planned for us:
It is the same way with the resurrection of the dead. Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever. Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. —1 Corinthians 15:42–43