It started in December with Secret Santa. Secret Santa gave me a plant stand, and the plant stand made me want an indoor herb garden. Granted, I’d thought about bringing my outside herbs inside in October or November. But the plants were big, too big for inside, and I only wanted the herbs, not any outdoor bugs that might come along for the ride. In any case, the end of December was too late to think about bringing my dried-up outdoor herb plants inside.

I thought you could just go on down to that store that sells lumber and paint and plants, and pick up some herbal plants. Seems like you should be able to do that, don’t you think? Not so. They had ferns and violets and philodendron, but no herbs. Not a single one. What they had was herb seeds. I’ve never done well with seeds. Outdoors, indoors…I haven’t had success with seeds. But I had a plan, and I had that Secret Santa plant stand, and the sense of resolution that comes to us all around January 1.

So now I have these seedlings. I doubt their timing is timely. But I’m still resolute, and the little plants give me hope and inspiration.

I watered them today. They’re struggling to grow green, but they’re alive and trying to reach for the sunlight…just like the rest of us.

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They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

Please visit my other blog, Clover & Ivy,
I post mostly nature photos there.



Why are clouds so much more when they hover above the open sea? Something about the color of the ocean and the blue sky and summer cotton clouds, ahead, above, and all around. The sky and the ocean, similarly infinities.

Someone’s gazing at clouds from a spot on the shore, and I wish it was me. I can almost feel it now. And I wish it was me.

2022, summer


There should be a checklist. Fireflies. Fireworks. A spectacular storm that doesn’t bring down any trees. Coffee on a fresh morning after it’s rained. A walk on the beach. A walk in the woods. Staking tomatoes. Watering plants. Treading water and lazy laughs with friends. Snapdragons. Dragonflies. Bugs and muggy nights.

The confluence? July 23rd. An evening outside when there’s still more than a few fireflies, and already, crickets chirp, as if to announce a movement towards August. Surrounded by a blend of scents from the plants I love. It’s happened before, evenings like this, and I ponder which plants disperse that heavenly fragrance.

Inside, pink coneflower cuttings drop pollen on the countertop. As my cloth wipes away the yellow powder, I detect a floral scent. Not an overdone designer aroma. But the real-deal pollen floral scent.

Some golden bits of summer to store up, as if I’m capable, and hold for some lifeless November afternoon.



Walks are good for thinking. They’re settling. You get time to spend pondering whatever’s on your mind.

There’s something I can’t quite bring to focus. And it’s not what I’d expect.

… I’m ready for cold …

I’m ready for a cold December morning when a few flakes of snow float in the neutral nothing of a dismal day, or whatever they do when it’s December and not yet the hard bitter cold of January’s winter.

Hmmm … cloudy skies and long walks.