We had a few lovely days last week in which this red hibiscus shrub, inherited last month from a neighbour who has sold their home to move out of province, flowered in our dining room for the first time. They’re fleeting but oh, so lovely.
Yes, the fallen blossoms are now in my freezer, waiting to become a dye bath.
I saw a face in the tree, right about here:
Peter didn’t see it but he did see a rooster head, which he helpfully drew in red.
But wait, there’s another face, with a void on its cheek which contains the first face, or the rooster face, depending on what you see there:
This is essentially how most of our summer evenings on the porch go, unless there are interesting bugs in the garden or birds to look at with the binoculars. Also we talk constantly about time travel (why it isn’t possible but if it were, how it might work) and consciousness (on the scale of universes, as in, what if the universe is one giant organism). There are worse ways to while away a summer stuck at home.