A few days ago I noticed that the local supermarket has begun carrying big pots of mums in fall colors. All the summer annuals are gone, along with their summer colors - the pastel pinks and blues and oranges, the bright vermillions and sky blues. Now the deep yellows, the rusts and brick-y reds, and the harvest grape colors are making an appearance. I was tempted, but it's still early. There's still plenty time for summer flowers that have already been planted. For that I look to the houses beside mine. My neighbors always have beautiful plants. Two doors down you can see the perennial clumps of sunny black-eyed susans and hollyhocks, and right next door to me are gorgeous cascades of mandevilla. When the season changes and the cooler weather comes, my next-door neighbor changes the flowing vines for mums that match the season; it always looks very attractive. My little house by comparison only has one little pot of orphaned blue something-or-others; the only pot (there were three) that survived my forgetting to water them for a few days during the summer heat when I was busy writing. I appreciate plants in borders and beds, and even in those plastic hanging pots, but I just don't seem to have the knack for maintaining them. Next week I'm getting some old raggedy bushes and weeds in the backyard beds removed, and am replacing them with spreading junipers. The resin from the junipers should act as a natural herbicide, and prevent weeds from filling in around them as they grow. It's the perfect low-to-no maintenance arrangement for someone like me. Oh, sure, I have dreams of butterfly gardens and riots of color from May to October, but I have to be realistic. Meanwhile, I always stop to admire the view at my neighbor's.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.