Happy Father’s Day to my own “Pop”, and to the other men that I know that get to say that they are “Dad”.
Sunday morning, 10:00 a.m. Father’s Day. The sun is bright in my courtyard and I’m out enjoying a CUP of coffee (not a two-sip Italian shot). Since construction workers have been rebuilding the adjoining courtyard 6 days a week, Sunday is the only time for privacy in my garden.
New flowers are blooming here in my secret green space. The hydrangeas have come on with vivid magenta. Daylily flower heads are ready to create their own profusion of bloom. And some delicate flower on 3-foot, leafy plants – that I almost pulled out! – is blooming in clusters around my stone shard patio. I have no idea what they are. (See below.)
The day is early, yet already warm. Outdoor activities should be done early or late today, with a nap in the middle. I hear couples talking, children playing, birds singing in the trees and shrubs, and the street-sweeper truck cleaning the Saturday night debris. Sunday morning with a warm sun; do things before the midday heat.