The posts have been rather drab lately. Not that there isn’t lots of drab worth commenting on. Maybe it’s the arrival of summer that’s doing it. The summer here has been overcast, damp and foggy, typical of our unusual weather pattern. Cold winter mornings offer, in general, more sunshine, more plants ready to bloom, and a seeming sense of optimism that is difficult to explain. Whereas summer seems not quite summer.

I had pretty much given up on finding anything new. My dialysis needs adjusting. I wake up exhausted and take almost all day to get going. But the moment I’m out of the house, it seems like I’m counting the minutes before connecting up and starting dialysis again. Of course dialysis keeps me alive, and by restricting my movement — I’m on a twenty foot tether — I’ve been able to read far more than normal. In fact, the books I’ve read have begun to pile up in impressive stacks. But there is still a sense of weariness about it.

On my way home last night I found two things, the bright yellow flower above and the aging purple one below. I was startled by the yellow one because, as I said, I’d given up on finding anything new. It was the product of weeds that had grown up suddenly before the gardener could catch them. The weeds had slender stems about three or four feet high. Without the blooms they were unremarkable. Had it not been for the yellow I might have missed them entirely. I looked at the photos when I got home and thought there was something very familiar about the yellow one. After a while I looked in the file where I keep photos that haven’t been written about yet. I found a much less beautiful photo of exactly the same flower from ages ago. It has sat in that folder for six to nine months at least. But I still had no idea what to say.

The purple flower is interesting. It has squeezed through a space in the fence and exists as a sort of solitary reminder. It’s not in terribly good shape, which I only noticed in the photograph. Its days unfortunately seem numbered. But it’s there and it persists. It had no trouble catching my eye, and it now has less trouble capturing my mind. The yellow flower is on its way in, the purple flower is on its way out. I adore the yellow one, but feel strangely akin to the purple one. Its beauty is completely different.

First the yellow, then the purple. Maybe I now know what to write.